#give him all the neckties of the world

[fairytalesandlegacies]

Trust Fall

• Author: fairytalesandlegacies • Fandom: Hogwarts Legacy • Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Reader • Warnings: 18+ Characters | NSFW | MDNI • Word Count: 23.5k

Summary:

A heady rush of defiance and determination surges through your veins, lighting up all your nerve endings like a live wire, and in your eagerness to rebel against the enchantment, you end up doing the complete opposite of Sebastian's request, hands sliding under the fabric of his cloak and slipping it off of his shoulders in one swift, fluid sweep, silk-lined wool pooling at his feet as you dive straight for his necktie, making a fine mess of the striped emerald and silver satin in your eager attempts to loosen it, fingers curling around smooth silk and giving it a gentle tug to urge him closer, unraveling until it's completely come undone, spilling into the hood of his cloak. The words kiss me ring out inside your head, desperate and longing, and for a moment, you can't tell whether it's his voice or your own imagination, caught up in a fantasy you've been playing out inside your head for the past two and a half years. Or: Sebastian Sallow teaches you how to fight against the Imperius Curse late one night, and in the process, some long-kept secrets are revealed.

✨ Read On AO3 or below the cut ✨

Trust Fall

After a whirlwind first year filled with dragon attacks and crumbling ruins, keepers and keys and hidden passageways, bonds of friendship forged in secrets and fire, daring quests and trying trials to prove your worth to wield an ancient form of magic only few can see, you should have expected your final year at Hogwarts would be anything but uneventful — and that suits you just fine.

Though, eager as you are to move beyond the confines of the castle and take the wizarding world by storm, there's a part of you that isn't quite ready to leave this place you've come to call home just yet, a part of you that's still got a few more noteworthy memories to make. Luckily for you, you've got a best friend who certainly knows how to make things memorable.

Ever since that thrilling excursion to the Restricted Section back in your fifth year, the two of you have been sneaking out of your common rooms almost nightly to go on all sorts of daredevil adventures — midnight waltzes through the Forbidden Forest in search of the legendary unicorn den, swarms of lacewing flies fluttering all around you like traces of dark magic; summer nights spent sneaking out of the sweltering confines of the castle and stealing away to the lake for a refreshing swim, diving down to its depths to see if you can catch a glimpse of a pod of mermaids or the eye of the giant squid, exploring cavernous grottos hidden beneath the waterfall, turquoise and sapphires made of pure light dancing across the surface of the water by the glow of your wands.

And of course, just last autumn, the night the two of you flew to the top of the Astronomy Tower to make wishes on a shower of shooting stars, bright sparks of silver and gold lit up in his warm brown eyes as he'd gazed up at them with a wide smile on his face and slowly counted to eighteen — one wish for each year he'd been alive. You suppose it would've been a truly breathtaking sight to behold, only you were too busy gazing at something far more beautiful, charting constellations of your own design in the sun-kissed freckles that dapple his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

Luckily, you didn't have to wait long to get your second chance, a flurry of snowflakes swirling down from the sky the night the two of you snuck back up for an encore in celebration of your birthday a few months later, green and silver scarf wrapped around both of your shoulders to keep you warm as you blew out candles lit by an overzealous Confringo cast and shared bites of a slightly lopsided cake he'd insisted on baking himself (though you suspect the only reason it was actually edible was because he'd had help from the house elves.) You never told him, but it was the best birthday you've ever had.

That's just how it was with him. Sebastian Sallow had a way of making every moment feel like an adventure.

And tonight is no exception. An owl asking you to meet him at your usual spot wakes you from your bed at a quarter 'til midnight, and the next thing you know, you're following his Disillusioned form down a candlelit corridor, traversing well-worn paths you've come to memorize like the back of your hand. You assume you're off to the Undercroft as per usual, but the longer you follow, the more it seems Sebastian has other plans (either that, or he has no idea where he's going and is simply feigning confidence — wouldn't be the first time.)

"Sebastian," you hiss, but he doesn't seem to hear you, moving ahead at the same steady pace.

You try again.

"Seb—"

"Bash—"

"Oi, Sebastard!" you call out in a series of escalating whispers, running through your rolodex of well-loved nicknames until he finally hears you, a wrinkle in the hood of his cloak catching under the candlelight as he turns his head in your direction.

"Yes, darling?" he whispers back, and you don't need to see his face to know that he's smirking underneath his cloaking charm. You're suddenly very glad for your own Disillusionment Charm — even though you know he only does it as a joke, purely to rile you up, it still makes you blush up a storm every time he calls you that. Thankfully, you have a lot of practice brushing it off.

"Did my Quaffle hit you a little harder than I thought during last week's match?" you tease, relishing every opportunity to gloat that you were the one to score the final goal and lead your team to victory. "Undercroft's the other way entirely."

"Have a little more faith in me, darling. I know exactly where we're going," he reassures you, cocky as ever. "We're simply taking the scenic route."

"I wouldn't exactly call this scenic," you snicker, casting your eyes around the bare stone walls of the corridor you're currently sneaking down.

"Are you sure about that?" he counters, throwing open the unassuming double doors at the end of the passageway with a graceful flick of his wand.

What lies beyond steals your breath away, shivers akin to a haunting melody in an empty cathedral dancing across the back of your neck as you step into a corridor bathed in glittering golds, greens, and blues, kissed by silver in the light of the full moon spilling through wall-to-wall windows, a mosaic of painted glass depicting star-strewn skies over tempestuous ocean waves, fields of wildflowers dotted between snow-capped mountains, and twisting ivy redolent of the Scottish countryside curling in curtains around a sprawling scenery of a vibrant, lush green forest.

At the very end of the hallway, you spot a familiar fixture — the Serpentine Beast Window, leading right out into the middle of the Defence Against The Dark Arts Tower. How extraordinary — a whole corridor hidden inside of a window. Nearly three years here and you're still discovering new secrets about the castle, despite all your eager exploring back when you first arrived.

"Stumbled upon this little beauty earlier today and immediately thought of you," he says softly, and then quickly clears his throat. "I mean to say, I thought you would like it. And, judging by that little dip in the outline of your cheek that can only mean you're wearing your signature dimpled smile, I'd say I was right."

You turn to face him, exchanging one beautiful scenery for another, wondering just how many of your mannerisms he's got memorized, and could know to look for even when you're nearly invisible.

"And look," he adds with a smug smile, pointing toward the little alcove with the familiar clockwork fixture sat just beneath the Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom as the two of you peer around the corner. "You see? Told you I knew exactly where I was g—"

Without warning, a bat-like figure emerges from out of the blindspot of the alcove, and the two of you immediately fall silent.

"Impertinent piece of— I know there's a secret room hidden behind here, if I could just—" Headmaster Black curses, flitting agitatedly back and forth in front of the clockwork cupboard, muttering all manner of incantations to try and figure out a way inside.

In your panic, the two of you bolt back behind the corner you've just rounded, hastily squeezing into a little recess in the wall of the corridor. You've never been the most graceful of people, tripping over your own feet and nearly falling flat on your face in your eagerness to escape, but Sebastian is well prepared for it, reaching out to steady you, grabbing ahold of your waist and pulling you into the little hideaway. Next thing you know, you're pressed right up against him, caged between the cold stained glass wall and the warm, heavy weight of his rapidly rising and falling chest, heart beating like the wings of a wild thunderbird beneath it.

You've never been this close to him before, but even though he's nearly invisible, you've all but memorized his every feature, so it's easy enough for you to map them all out — from the sharp curve of his jawline to the devil-may-care sweep of his hair, to the plush pink pout of his lower lip, and— uh oh, you're definitely staring. And maybe it's just a trick of the light, but you could almost swear he was too, that little telltale flicker as his eyes snap back up to meet yours.

Ocean blues filter through his Disillusioned form as the aquatic landscape bleeds through from behind him, making him look as though he's one with the water, moonlight dancing along the edges of his outline, igniting him in a soft silver glow. Sebastian was right, it is very beautiful in here…though you'd wager it's less to do with the colorful mosaic and entirely due to the man standing in front of you, lips a mere breath from yours, close enough to lean forward and—

Oh, you really need to sort out your priorities. If you're not careful, your less-than-pleasant headmaster will catch the two of you sneaking around past curfew, and that's worth two poltergeists on a good day. This is no time to be thinking about your best friend's lips, wondering whether they might taste like the strawberry sugar quills he'd snuck the two of you after dinner, or the spearmint toothpaste he uses every night before he goes to bed…

The sound of distant footfalls headed down the opposite corridor snaps you out of your reverie, accompanied by the dulcet tones of your irate headmaster, evidently giving up in his attempts to break past the barrier into the place that's been your refuge for the past two and a half years, until all you can hear is the sound of the Defence Tower's crackling Floo flames and the frenzied staccato of both of you trying to steady your breathing.

"I think we're safe now," you tell him, whispers disguising your breathlessness.

"Hmm?" Sebastian replies with a distracted hum, gaze snapping back up from the shape of your lips for the second time in as many minutes.

Sebastian shakes his head, and for a few nerve-wracking seconds you hold your breath in fear that he can feel the sudden jump in your pulse as he leans in even closer in an effort to peer around the corner, before giving you a quick nod of affirmation and slipping out of the passageway, taking what's left of the air in your lungs along with him. The glass wall against your back suddenly feels a lot colder without Sebastian's warm weight against your chest, and for a brief moment you wonder whether you've gone mad, wishing that Black had hovered around for just a little bit longer.

"Yes, it would appear so…for now, at least," Sebastian grouses, lips twisting into a frustrated scowl. "But if Black's been sniffing around the Undercroft, then it's only a matter of time before he works out how to get inside, and that means it's as good as lost to us as a safe haven. I'm…not sure where else we could go," he says, sounding genuinely heartbroken by the notion of having to cut this little nighttime rendezvous short.

You're about to join him in his lament, when a spectacular idea comes to you.

"Oh!" you exclaim, quickly clapping a hand over your mouth when the outline of his eyebrows shoots up in alarm.

"Sorry, got excited," you explain. Sebastian's lips quirk up in fond amusement.

"Follow me," you whisper, taking him by the hand and leading him up the staircase directly across from the hidden corridor.

"Where—" he starts, but you cut him off with a cryptic, "You'll see."

Without another word, Sebastian follows you up several flights of stairs, twists and turns leading you past Charms and up through the Astronomy Tower, sleeping portraits tutting at the two of you along the way.

"Can't believe I didn't think of it before, but, well…I've only just discovered it, and we've always had the Undercroft, so I didn't think…aha! Here we are," you whisper excitedly as the two of you round one final corner, coming to a stop between a blank stretch of stone and a tapestry of Barnabas The Barmy.

Sebastian looks at you like you've gone mad.

"Darling," he drawls, the affectionate moniker dripping with the urge to tease you senseless. "That's a bare stone wall."

"Are you sure about that?" you ask in a mimic of his playful prodding from earlier, lips quirking up in a smug smile at Sebastian's gasp of surprise as an ornate doorway bleeds into view, sprawling across the stone wall like fast-growing ivy.

With a confident smile, you breeze through the door and into a spacious moonlit room decorated in a blend of botanical greenery and gothic architecture, ceiling enchanted to reflect the world outside, sky full of stars glittering through an array of blossoming vines suspended from the illusion of a skylight.

You haven't quite finished setting everything up just yet, so it's still a little messy in some areas (a seemingly endless struggle to coax the paintings and fixtures to hang just right) but you're fairly happy with what you've done with it so far. A handsome writing desk strewn with stacks of dusty old textbooks, half-finished essays, inkwells, broken quills, and a bowl magically enchanted to fill with fresh fruit whenever you enter the room (courtesy of your friend Deek, who'd noticed you missing meals one too many times because you were too wrapped up in one of your projects, and decided to intervene) sits in one corner, while a potioneer's station with a trio of burners and a potting table with nearly-sprouted dittany and mallowsweet sits in another, a whole empty corridor just waiting to be filled with anything your heart desires (your own private library, perhaps) nestled in between.

"Is this…the Room Of Requirement?" Sebastian whispers from beside you, awestruck expression on full display now he's no longer cloaked by his Disillusionment Charm. "I thought that was just a myth."

"So did I," you chuckle, lifting your own with a casual flick of your wand. "…until a fortnight ago."

Sebastian turns to look at you, eyes narrowing.

"Hang on," he says, tone changing from fascinated to guarded in the span of a few words. "You've known about this room for two whole weeks and you haven't told me?"

You can't but feel a little pang of guilt over how hurt he sounds.

"Come now, it's not like that," you assure him, reaching out to take his hand. Despite his sudden shift in mood, he immediately takes it, fingers slipping easily between your own, sighing as you rub soothing circles along his thumb.

"Like I said, I've only just found out about it," you explain. "Professor Weasley showed it to me after I spoke to her about wishing I had a quieter place to study for my N.E.W.T.s. — suppose she took pity on me, seeing as two out of three of my only years here have been plagued by nerve-wracking exams — let me turn it into my own private study, and decorate how I please. She made me swear not to tell anyone, but…well…you're my best friend, Seb, of course I was planning on telling you. I just wanted to wait until I'd finished setting everything up first," you finish, eyes narrowing at one of the paintings above your desk set several inches above the others at an odd angle.

"You are a wonder, you know that?" Sebastian laughs, warmth flooding back into his features as he gazes down at you with a fond smile, giving the palm of your hand an affectionate squeeze. "You've got all these professors fooled into thinking you're this saintly, rule-abiding student, yet here you are, sneaking out past curfew with the school's biggest mischief-maker to learn forbidden magic in a secret room you swore you'd tell no one about. We do so adore restricted areas, don't we?"

"Forbidden magic?" you repeat, arching a curious eyebrow.

"Why do you think I invited you to meet me tonight?" he says, lips curving up in an impish grin. "I've got another spell I'd like to show you."

Your eyes light up in excitement, eager as the day he taught you Confringo.

"But first, I think you owe a tour of your secret private study, starting with…whatever those are," he says, curious gaze flitting between three magnificent archways connected by an imperial staircase just across the way, slivers of gold waltzing between the branches of two majestic oak trees twisting around the entryway of the first, a lullaby of birdsong and gentle ocean waves echoing from the bright, hazy doorway of the second, climbing vines curling like serpents around water-logged trees cloaked in mushrooms and moss, casting shadows like Celtic filigree across the marble floor as the soft silver glow of magically-conjured moonlight spills down the steps leading up to the entrance of the third.

"Oh, you mean my vivariums?" you reply with an air of feigned nonchalance, smiling at the way he gazes at them with all the wonder of a small child discovering magic for the first time. "Forest, swamp, coastal, or grasslands — where would you like to start first?"

Sebastian turns to look at you, eyebrows arched in astonishment.

"You mean to tell me there's an entire ecosystem in each one of these?" he asks.

"Well, of course," you answer. "Each beast I've rescued deserves to feel right at home, wouldn't you agree?"

"You've got magical beasts in there?" Sebastian huffs out around a disbelieving laugh.

"Would you like to meet them?" you ask, lips curling up in a bright smile.

"Would I like to— is that even a question?" he asks, jubilant.

"Please, lead the way." Sebastian sweeps into a low, theatrical bow and is nearly knocked off his feet as you eagerly tug him by the hand toward the first of four doorways, stepping from the serene moonlit study into a lush green forest teeming with birdsong and honeybees, lit by the soft golden glow of warm summer sunshine.

"—should really check on everyone anyway. I set up an automatic feeder and a toy chest in each one, but they still need to be brushed on occasion so I can collect all their feathers and fur," you ramble, but your idle chatter is lost on Sebastian as he stands there in the middle of the forest clearing, gazing awestruck at a pair of unicorns — a bright white female and her little golden foal, coats adorned with a series of swirling spirals that seem to shimmer in the sunlight — trotting toward you in the distance.

"I— I can't believe it," he breathes. "After all that time we spent searching, you finally found the unicorn den."

"Do you remember that mooncalf den we found in the middle of the Forbidden Forest that one time?" you prompt, smiling at the memory of one of your many midnight forays.

"How could I forget? The way you cooed over them. Adorable," Sebastian teases you with a fond smile.

"Fifty paces east and we would've found it," you tell him, delighting in the impressed look on his face.

"Huh," he muses softly. "All that time, we were so close. Funny how often that seems to happen."

You watch his gaze drift down to your entwined hands and settle there for a moment, heart thundering to the beat of swiftly approaching hooves. Before you can think of anything to say, you're pulled out of the intimate embrace by the arrival of your unicorns, the bright white female nearly knocking you off your feet in her enthusiasm to greet you. She nuzzles at your shoulder before shooting Sebastian a curious glance, her little foal hiding behind her. You've never brought anyone else into your vivariums before, and she has every right to be wary after everything she's been through.

"It's alright. Sebastian is safe, I promise," you assure her in a comforting whisper, reaching up to stroke along the bridge of her nose. She huffs out a breath and closes her eyes, shaking her head in an effort to get you to reach a little bit higher. After a moment's deliberation, she approaches Sebastian, bowing her head and allowing him to touch her. Sebastian shoots you a wary glance, asking your permission. You give him an encouraging nod, and slowly, carefully, he reaches up to gently stroke along the same path, letting out a delighted laugh when she huffs and nuzzles against his shoulder in turn.

"This is Hazel," you tell him with a soft smile. "A lovely woman by the name of Betty Bugbrooke bonded with her when she was just a foal, came to visit her in the forest every week. But one night, they were attacked by wolves, and Hazel ran off scared. Betty worried she might be injured, or worse— that poachers might have gotten to her. She asked if I could find her, give her a safe place to recover. It was only after I brought her here that I realized she was—"

On cue, the little golden foal takes this moment to make his grand entrance, squeezing in past his mother to head-butt Sebastian in the stomach, eager for attention.

"Oof," Sebastian laughs, raising his other hand to gently stroke the foal's mane.

"And this is Hazel's son," you chuckle, glancing back and forth between the two boys. "I haven't thought of a name for him yet — he was only just born last week. Perhaps you could help me name him?"

"You'd let me?" Sebastian asks, pleasantly surprised.

"I think it's only right. He seems to have taken quite a shine to you," you smile as the little foal head-butts Sebastian's outstretched hand.

"Either that or he thinks my fingers are carrots," Sebastian laughs.

"I don't think he's quite figured out how to work the automatic feeder just yet," you venture, glancing back at the row of little wooden crates by the entryway and making a mental note to double check you've conjured the spellcraft correctly. "Would you like to feed him while I brush Hazel?"

"Sure," he says, glancing warily at the automatic feeder, not quite sure how to use it himself. "Should I just—"

Before he can finish asking, you lift your wand and produce a fresh bag of beast feed similar to the ones you've used in class, handing it off to him before conjuring your brush and heading toward Hazel.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as Sebastian reaches into the bag and lifts a handful of food into the air, where it floats between himself and the foal, who eagerly reaches forward to chomp at the pieces. Sebastian chuckles fondly at the hungry little unicorn and sets about trying to figure out a name for him, listing a few choices out loud and asking him what he thinks of each one in turn.

"What shall we call you?" Sebastian muses, tapping a finger against his chin. "Oh, I know! How about a wood-themed name to match your mother? Let's see…how do you feel about Hawthorn?"

The golden foal snorts and shakes his head.

"Alright, I'll take that as a no," Sebastian chuckles. "Hmm…how about Rowan, then?"

The little foal stamps his front hoof in even deeper disapproval.

"Well, we can't very well call you Dogwood," Sebastian laughs.

Hazel lets out an impatient snort as she waits to be brushed, bringing your focus rather sharply back to her. You breathe out a hasty apology, but she merely gives you a look like she knows exactly why you were so distracted.

"Hush, you," you admonish her with a small smile, reaching up to brush the tangles out of her long silver-white mane.

Hazel lets out another huff like she's sighing at you, glancing over to watch Sebastian playing with her son, red-faced and laughing as the two of them chase each other across the clearing, before turning back to level you with another pointed look, nodding her head and nuzzling her nose into your shoulder, and you think it might just be the closest anyone's ever come to getting a unicorn's stamp of approval.

A little while later, the two of you are sitting at the edge of the forest by the toy box, discarded cloaks laid out underneath you like a makeshift picnic blanket, watching Hazel and newly-named Willow chasing an unpoppable bubble around the clearing, when Sebastian lets out a long, slow, contented sigh and leans his shoulder into yours.

"I have to admit, it's a wonder I've seen you at all these past two weeks," he says with a soft chuckle, gazing out onto the golden horizon, mesmerized by the way the sunlight kisses the surface of the lake. "I could easily stay like this forever."

He turns to look at you, sunlight dancing in his warm brown eyes just like the stars had that night on the Astronomy Tower.

"Here…with you."

Breath catches in the back of your throat as you look at him, eyes trailing down the curves of his freckled cheeks to land on his lips again. Here in the soft afternoon light, his freckles are more pronounced than ever, each one a kiss from the sun. You imagine him spending his summers running around outside, tearing through the countryside on all sorts of rollicking adventures, tending to the gardens and livestock in the village on his quieter days. Perhaps that's how he developed such a sturdy build, broad shoulders straining against the sleeves of his button-up, rolled halfway to his elbows, baring toned, freckled forearms that flex with each flick of his wrist as he guides the moving path of the unpoppable bubble.

You feel your body start to lean forward of its own accord, eyes fluttering closed, but manage to stop yourself before you do something monumentally stupid like kiss your best friend in the middle of a magically-conjured forest clearing.

"Ah, but then you wouldn't get to see the rest of my vivariums," you quickly recover, jolting yourself out of the moment.

"Merlin, I forgot," Sebastian shakes his head, seemingly coming out of his own little reverie. "This is just one of three."

"Four," you correct him with a small smile. "The doorway to the grasslands sits just above the entrance to the Room Of Requirement."

"I didn't even notice," Sebastian marvels. "I was so preoccupied with the three right in front of me."

You slowly get to your feet, dusting grass off the edge of your skirt.

"Well then, are you ready to see the next one?" you ask, holding out your hand.

"Absolutely," he says, taking your offered hand, though he does most of the heavy lifting as you help him to his feet. You expect him to let go once he's standing, but he only holds on tighter, slipping his fingers back in between yours. You can't help the rush of warmth that surges through you at the contact.

"Shall we take the scenic route?" you ask, inclining your head toward the darkened forest just ahead.

"Is there any other way to travel?" Sebastian quips back, eagerly following at your side.

Jobberknolls and fwoopers fly overhead, weaving between the autumn-kissed treetops as the two of you make your way through the thicket, while kneazles chase rolling puffskeins through the leaf-strewn undergrowth. As the two of you trudge along, the forest itself grows darker and darker, fading from the warmth of a golden summer's day into a misty moonlit night, the ground beneath your boots becoming steadily more uneven and unforgiving, solid dirt and gnarled tree roots giving way to soft, muddy earth dotted with moss and mushrooms, puddles of water stretching between patches of grass and tall, swaying cattails, until you reach the very edge of the forest, opening out onto the swamplands.

Sebastian lets out a sharp gasp, faltering for a moment when he sees two skeletal, horse-like creatures with wingspans the size of a Hebridean Black swoop down from the night sky to land at the edge of the forest, one pitch black like the sky above, one as bright as the moon.

"You have thestrals?" he whispers, equal parts amazed and apprehensive.

"There's a den just north of here," you tell him, giving the palm of his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Absolutely riddled with poachers, last time I checked. It's not safe for them out there anymore, at least not at the moment. So, Deek asked me to rescue a mated pair."

"Deek," Sebastian repeats, the name somewhat familiar. "That's that house elf that's friendly with Professor Weasley, right?"

"The very same," you reply with a small smile. "He's the one who helped me set up my study, in fact; encouraged me to rescue as many creatures as I could, give them a safe place free from the threat of poachers."

"Which is how you ended up with a mated pair of thestrals," Sebastian concludes, sounding both amused and impressed.

"Gomez and Morticia," you answer with a cheerful nod.

Sebastian glances at you, one eyebrow arched in amusement.

"It's what I've taken to calling them," you say with a small shrug. "Suits them, don't you think?"

Sebastian watches the pair of bad omens curl up together under the shade of a weeping willow, Gomez stretching out his wings to wrap around Morticia's shoulders like a protective shield, before leaning forward to nuzzle his nose against hers.

"It certainly does," Sebastian replies with a soft smile.

He turns back to look at you, teasing grin returning in full. "Came up with names for all of them, have you?"

"Of course," you reply with a jovial smile. "It would get awfully confusing if I didn't, especially with an entire herd of— aha! There they are, right on cue."

One by one, all seven of your mooncalves emerge into the clearing, moonlight dancing in their big, bright blue eyes, webbed feet splashing through muddy puddles as they all come hurdling toward you, jumping up and down, enveloping you in a cuddly circle. You greet them all by name — Millie, Mooncake, Marzipan, Vanilla Bean, Snickerdoodle, Pancake, and Jellybean — giggling and cooing over them as you ask each one how they've been, who's hungry, and who needs to be brushed.

Too wrapped up in your little herd to notice the way Sebastian's lips curl up in a soft, smitten smile as he watches you, heart fluttering inside his chest at how utterly adorable you are, how big and pure your heart is. Of course you'd have a whole herd of them. He shouldn't have expected anything less.

"Where on earth did you find them all?" he asks, huffing out a laugh as one of the braver ones comes sniffing around his ankles, peering up at him expectantly.

"Poacher camps," you explain, upper lip curling in a scowl. "Every so often, I'll come across an encampment near their den in the forest, catch them before they manage to steal away with their quarry. They mostly use cages with level one locks, so they're easy enough to pick while their backs are turned, but it's not exactly the quickest process. So far, I've only been caught twice. Managed to duel my way out of trouble without too much fuss — nothing a vial or two of Wiggenweld couldn't patch up — and more importantly, without any mooncalves getting hurt in the process. Poachers scare pretty easily when they find out a student knows Confringo — thanks for that, by the way."

You look up from your little herd of mooncalves to find Sebastian staring at you in astonishment, mouth hanging open like you've just revealed some grand secret double-life, so distracted he doesn't even notice the muddy paw prints saturating the knees of his trousers as Jellybean jumps up to nose at his pocket, searching for treats.

"You—" he falters, breath coming out in a disbelieving laugh. "You're amazing, you know that? I wondered where you'd been disappearing off to whenever you weren't with me. Speaking of which…I'd like to come with you next time, if you'll have me. Help you fight the baddies, keep these little ones safe," he says, leaning down to stroke the top of Jellybean's head and letting out a contented hum when she closes her eyes and makes a high-pitched squeaking sound.

"I take back every time I've ever teased you for going soft over these little gremlins. I can see now why you like them so much," he relents, chuckling as Jellybean purrs and nuzzles her head against the palm of his hand, eager for more scritches.

"Aren't they wonderful? They're so sweet and soft and silly," you laugh as you watch a trio of little ones chasing after a tiny floating moon conjured from the toy box with all the fondness in the world. "Oh, I just love them so much."

"Is that what it takes to earn your love? I'm at least one out of three of those things," Sebastian chuckles under his breath, eyes growing wide the moment he realizes he's just said that out loud.

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that," you say, struggling to hear anything over the sound of Snickerdoodle happily crunching away as you feed him a handful of treats.

"Nothing," Sebastian lies, summoning a handful of beast feed from out of your bag with a flick of his wand. "I was just asking Jellybean here if she was hungry."

At the mention of food, all seven of your mooncalves come gallivanting up to surround you both, floating toy moon immediately forgotten.

"Alright, easy there, I promise I won't let anyone go hungry," Sebastian reassures them, laughing as their little pink tongues poke out to tickle the palm of his hand. There's no Hazel to tease you this time as you stand there, rooted to the spot as though you've just been Stunned, one breath away from sighing like a lovesick damsel as you watch Sebastian dote on your mooncalves, heart threatening to burst with the overwhelming love it carries.

You wait until the very last mooncalf has huddled in with the rest of their herd and laid their head down in the tall, swaying grasses to drift off to sleep, fur brushed and bellies full, before making your way to the next vivarium. Together, the two of you wade through knee-deep swamp water littered with lily pads and lotus flowers, cloaks soaked and caked in mud and moss, until you reach the mouth of a darkened cave, shards of moonstone jutting from floor to ceiling like rows of shark's teeth.

Led by the glow of your wands, the two of you carefully make your way through the cavernous passageway, a kaleidoscope of colors bursting across the walls each time your light shines through a cluster of crystals, until eventually, the light at the end grows bright enough to outshine even the strongest of light spells, a symphony of crickets and tree frogs and echoes of dripping stalactites giving way to the soft cries of seagulls and gentle ocean waves, moss giving way to seaweed, until the muddied puddles of the swamp meet little whirlpools of sea water.

Together, the two of you step out into a bright, hazy world lit by golden sunlight streaming through fluffy white clouds stretched across a brilliant blue sky, ocean waves crashing against massive weather-worn rocks surrounding you on all sides.

After thestrals and unicorns, Sebastian really shouldn't be surprised to learn that you have hippogriffs too, but he gasps in disbelief all the same when two of them come swooping down from the sky to land right in front of you, eager to be brushed and fed.

They're wary at first, only used to you, Natty, and Poppy from your daring rescue weekend last, watching Sebastian with a kind of cautious curiosity as he dips into a low bow, warm brown eyes fixed first to Highwing's golden gaze, and then Caligo's piercing bright blue. After a moment, the two of them bow their heads, allowing Sebastian to come stand beside you and brush them, Caligo affectionately nipping at the hood of Sebastian's cloak when he sneaks him a few extra treats from your bag of beast feed.

"Keep that up, and I bet he'll let you ride him in no time," you chuckle, plucking another loose feather from Highwing's bright white plumage and stowing it in the pocket of your cloak.

Sebastian turns to look at you, eyes wide with excitement.

Your lips quirk up in a smug smile.

"There's nothing quite like the view of the castle grounds from the back of a hippogriff," you sigh, mischief dancing in your eyes as you cast him a playful grin. "Want to see for yourself sometime?"

"Do you even have to ask?" Sebastian quips back, lips pulling up into a brilliant smile.

"Is it just the two of them in here, or are there any other surprises I should know ab—" Sebastian barks out a startled laugh as a bright white diricawl bursts into existence right beside him.

"Oh, hullo Gwyneira, nice of you to join us," you chuckle as the squat little bird marches up to the automatic feeder, bobbing and weaving without a trace of fear between the hippogriffs' taloned feet, and steals three helpings' worth of food before disappearing again with an audible pop.

You didn't think Sebastian's face had room for any more freckles, but after a long stretch of sitting at the edge of the beach, dark gray trousers rolled up to his knees, wool socks and worn leather boots discarded in favor of dipping his toes into the sand, tempting the water to come up and kiss the soles of his feet, you're proven quite wrong, a ruddy hue settling into the hollows of his cheeks as he squints against the blinding sunlight and watches in fascination as Caligo and Highwing take to the skies.

Eager to see where they're off to, the two of you make your way a little further east, where a large formation of rocks leads up a steep cliffside covered in a thick coat of lush greenery, cracked and crumbling steps ascending to the ruins of an old castle. It's a bit of a climb that's hell on both your knees, but the view at the top is well worth it, sunlight spilling over a landscape that seems to exist forever in the golden hour, rolling grasslands teeming with billywigs and honeybees buzzing about a colorful sweep of wildflowers, surrounded on all sides by majestic, snowcapped mountains.

Sebastian gazes out onto the horizon, elbows resting against the edge of the wooden guardrail fencing in the highest outlook of the clearing, mesmerized by the way the sunlight hits the glittering golds of Highwing's feathers and the cool blues of Caligo's as the two of them soar across the mountain range, when a flash of bright red wings swoops by overheard, wind curling its fingers through his hair.

"Is that— oh, there's no way," Sebastian gasps in unbridled excitement.

"Oh, did I forget to mention I have a phoenix?" you reply cooly, though your proud, beaming smile gives you away.

"Incredible," he says, a little breathless as he watches the legendary bird soar across the mountainous landscape. "Absolutely incredible."

He turns to look at you, sunlight catching against the back of his frame and igniting him in a soft golden glow, fixing you with a smile that's somehow even softer as he adds, "Every time I think I've seen everything, you always find a way to surprise me."

Sunlight spills across his features as he holds your gaze, kissing brand new freckles into the curves of his cheeks and the bow of his lips, and in that moment you've never been more jealous of the sun, longing to follow in its lead.

You're shaken out of the moment by a series of curious squeaks and whines, turning in time to see a family of nifflers eagerly waddling up the path toward you, keen to sniff you out and see if you've got anything valuable to nick. You introduce Sebastian to the felonious foursome — the infamous Irondale Pilferer, Calamity, his partner in crime, and their newborn twins, Mischief and Rascal. Sebastian greets them with a friendly smile, crouching down to tickle Mischief's belly and laughing when a handful of coins comes spilling out of her pouch. You tell him he's more than welcome to pocket them…if he can manage to keep them out of her brother's clutches.

Sebastian lets out a deep, contented sigh as he gazes out into the distance, watching as the sun slowly starts to slip beneath the mountains, bathing the clearing in hazy shades of citrus and rose.

"Blimey, how long have we been in here?" he laughs, glancing down at the edges of his nearly-dried cloak. "It feels so real in here, I'd honestly forgotten we're still in a room inside the castle, and haven't just traversed the whole of the highlands in the span of— what, a couple of hours? This place feels never-ending, it'll be a wonder if we ever manage to find our way back."

He glances over at you suddenly, a worried crease settling into his brow.

"Do you know the way back, or do we just live here now?" he asks, huffing out a nervous laugh.

"Come along, lost boy. Let's get you home," you tease, fixing him with a fond smile as you take him by the hand and lead him down a curved, winding pathway that twists around the cliff face of the clearing, tall grasses and fragrant wildflowers weaving between the pickets of the worn wooden guardrail, down down down until you reach a magnificent waterfall spilling out into a vast, glittering lake on the periphery of a familiar terrain.

As you climb down the last moss-covered boulder and make your way across the clearing, you spot Hazel curled up around her little foal, the two of them softly dozing under the shade of an oak tree, gentle sunlight spilling through its branches in a lazy waltz across the lush green grass.

Hand in hand, the two of you step back through the doorway opposite the edge of the forest, and into the heart of your starlit study.

Sebastian shakes his head like he's coming out of a trance, glancing back toward the sunlit doorway to double check it hadn't all just been a dream.

"An entire world — sorry, four entire worlds — existing inside a single room in the castle?" he marvels, breathless laughter rushing out of him as he glances around the study. "And you managed to set all this up in just two weeks?"

"Well, I had a lot of help," you're quick to assure him, not wanting to take all the credit. "From Deek and the room itself."

"But you're the one rescued all those creatures, and you chose all the decor, didn't you?" he insists, playfully knocking his shoulder against yours.

"I suppose that's true…" you relent, lips curving up in a proud smile as you glance around the room, sleek mahogany bookshelves lining nearly every wall, just waiting to be filled with all your favorites, moonlit sky casting shadows on the polished marble floor through the twisting greenery adorning the skylight up above.

"It's magnificent, by the way…your private study," he tells you, voice soft and low as he turns back to look at you.

"Our private study now, if you'd like," you correct him, mesmerized by the way the moonlight dances in his eyes.

"A secret room that's just ours alone? Oh, I like the sound of that very much," he says, voice close to a whisper now as he keeps his steady gaze fixed on yours.

It's easier to catch this time, now you're no longer under the spell of a Disillusionment Charm, the way his eyes trail down to your lips and linger there, just for a moment. Your tongue darts out to swipe across your bottom lip in instinctual anticipation, and you could almost swear you hear his breath hitch, hand gripping yours a little tighter.

And oh, you're going to do something very stupid if you don't snap yourself out of this right now.

"So," you prompt, embarrassed by how breathless you sound. "You promised to show me something forbidden tonight?"

Sebastian blinks, eyebrows jumping to his hairline.

"What?" he blurts out, half shocked disbelief, half breathless laughter.

Ah. You just clocked the way that sounded. Brilliant subject change. Spectacular choice of wording right there.

"You— you said you had a spell you wanted to show me?" you clarify, cheeks burning at the eager look in his eyes.

"Oh," Sebastian breathes, shoulders sagging a little. He shakes his head to try and clear it.

"Right, we should—" he falters, suddenly nervous, hand slipping out of yours as he makes his way into the middle of the study. (You try very hard not to mourn the loss, the space between your fingers a little too empty without his to fit perfectly between them.)

The look he gives you as he stands opposite you is apprehensive, posture worse than usual as he ducks his head down in an effort to appear smaller.

"So…" he starts, lips pulling up in a wincing smile. "I trust you remember a little spell called…" he swallows. "…the Imperius Curse?"

All the air rushes out of the room like a Dementor's kiss, fear lancing through you like slivers of ice, leaving pins and needles in its wake.

It's been over a year since the catacombs. You thought he'd put all that behind him.

"Sebastian…" you say his name like a warning.

Sebastian puts his hands up in surrender.

"Allow me to explain," he says softly. "Please."

You purse your lips, eyes narrowed. After a moment's deliberation, you let out a sharp sigh and give him an impatient look, your silence giving him permission to continue.

Sebastian breathes a sigh of relief and nods in gratitude.

"Okay, so…hear me out," he starts. "You and I have both known what we wanted to do since the end of our fifth year, yeah? But getting Outstandings in our O.W.L.s is only the beginning. If we're to have even a shot at surviving life as Curse-Breakers, then we need to be prepared for what's out there."

"Even— no, especially— all the things the school deems too dangerous for us to even know about. Honestly, what's the use in Defence Against The Dark Arts if they're not going to teach us how to properly defend ourselves against the Dark Arts?" Sebastian scoffs, rolling his eyes as he riles himself up over his longstanding disdain for the curriculum.

Your lips twitch into a small smile in spite of yourself.

Sebastian shakes his head and lets out a wearying sigh, reeling himself back in, gaze softening as he turns back to look at you.

"Listen, I know you didn't want to learn it last time…but this time, I really think you should," he insists, solemn conviction laced with an undercurrent of soft, desperate pleading. "Not for the purpose of using it on anyone, but so you can understand how it works, the kind of power that comes with wielding it, and most importantly, how to fight against it, so that if anyone is ever fool enough to cast it on you, you won't be so easily subject to their whims."

A shudder runs through the both of you at the very thought, Sebastian bristling with a kind of fierce protectiveness you've only ever seen him display for a few choice souls — his twin sister, his oldest friend, and you.

"And the other two curses?" you ask tentatively, voice low and quiet as your vision swirls with sparks of acid green and crackling carmine, a phantom burst of pain unlike anything else in this world rippling across your abdomen as the memory of cold stone beneath your hands and knees overwhelms you. "Would you have me fight against those, too?"

"No!" Sebastian says a little too sharply, terror flashing in his eyes.

He takes a deep breath, grounding himself.

"The only one I feel even remotely comfortable casting on one another is the Imperius Curse. In the right hands, it's the only one that isn't inexorably harmful…the only one anyone's ever been able to fight against. With the other two, it's really just a matter of…of dodging it," he swallows thickly, a flash of guilt tightening his jaw. "Or…or enduring it."

Sebastian's expression darkens and you know he's thinking back to the Scriptorium again, his reaction so raw and visceral it's as though you're back on a different stone floor, tears drenching the hood of your cloak as he'd clung to you, shoulders shaking in violent, body-wracking sobs.

It's not as though he's made peace with what happened with his uncle, or that he feels more remorse for one grievance over the other. You suppose it's just a little easier to contend with your past mistakes, to quiet the voices of all the people you've wronged, when you don't have to look one of them in the eye every day…when they've been nothing but kind and loyal to you, and all you did in return was repeatedly let them down.

And you know, because he's told you countless times now, that there isn't a single day that goes by where he doesn't wish it'd been him instead, that he should've fought harder against your refusal to cast it on him. But that's an empty regret, because even if you had to go back and do it all over again, you still never would have let him be the one to take it.

"I'll never cast that spell on you ever again," he says, broken, choking. "Once was already too much. I'm so—"

"I know you are," you tell him softly, the same words you've repeated countless times since that quiet little moment in the Undercroft at the end of your fifth year.

You'd kept in touch over the summer, too eager to hear from him to follow through on any half-baked notions of needing space. And a good thing, too — Sebastian, it seemed, was just as keen to hear from you in return. He'd written dozens of letters — two, three, four, sometimes five times a week, if his owl was feeling up to it (though according to one of his letters, she'd start biting his fingers if he ever reached for his quill a sixth time in the span of a single week.)

He never veered toward the topic of your magic or what happened down in the catacombs, content to talk at length about the mundanities of your day instead, asking after your fancy new life in London living all on your own in the flat Fig had left you in his will, commiserating over the hardships of settling a late loved one's affairs. He never seemed bored in the slightest, even when you felt you were droning on about nothing, always happy to hear what you've been up to, even on the days you never left the house. To Sebastian, it seemed no subject could be exhausted, especially when it came to you.

In each new letter, he'd oh-so-casually ask about one of your favorite things, from sweets to flowers to the muggle authors you'd grown up reading, and every week, you'd find a little hand-wrapped parcel among his many letters — a box of sugar quills or a chocolate frog he'd picked up in Hogsmeade the weekend before, a bright blue jobberknoll feather he'd found at a nearby den and fashioned into a quill, fresh honeysuckles and hyacinths from his neighbor's garden pressed between the pages of a quote he'd scribbled down from one of your favorite books, along with an essay on why he liked it.

He'd been keen to keep you up-to-date on how he'd been faring too, eager to keep busy and make himself useful, helping his neighbors with various errands and tasks they might need done, tending to livestock and community gardens, helping to fix up the hamlet in the wake of loyalist destruction. He spoke like he was desperate to prove himself, prove he was keeping his word. A few times, you couldn't help but giggle at the way he sounded like an overzealous suitor trying to woo his intended, keen to sell up his accomplishments.

At first, you'd thought it was simply because he was lonely, that you were his only correspondent, but then Ominis finally broke his silence in July (insisting in his letters to you that given the choice between his family's company and Sebastian's, he supposed he'd rather tolerate the latter, and not because he missed the impish bastard, or anything — his words) followed by a tentative hope you're well from Anne in August. Though she hadn't quite been ready to forgive him back then, Anne was still anxious to know how her brother was faring, not-so-subtly asking if you'd heard from him in her owls to you, and, according to Anne's letters, getting an earful from one of her former neighbors.

After Anne left Feldcroft, she'd kept in touch with one of the neighbors she'd always been closest to — a kindly old woman who used to send over home-cooked stews when Anne and Sebastian first arrived on Solomon's doorstep, and who'd apparently been singing Sebastian's praises all summer for all the hard work that nice young man had been doing to help cut back on the gnome infestation threatening to overtake her rose garden.

Evidently, there were only so many times Anne could bear to hear about that poor boy's crumpled face every time the old woman mentioned Anne's name in passing, how sweet it was that he missed his twin, but wished her luck in her travels as she took a much-needed respite to mourn the loss of their uncle, opting to stay behind and look after the estate, that she'd finally broken and decided to send him a letter. Just one line — hope you're well — but to Sebastian, it was everything.

And yet, the frequency with which he wrote to you never wavered. If anything, it'd given him even more to talk about.

You remember how excited he'd been for term to start back up again — it was all the two of you seemed to be able to talk about in the days leading up to September. You'd grown so used to his presence, even if it was only through letters, that the stroll through Diagon Alley felt rather lonely without him, as did the train ride from King's Cross (though an afternoon of stories, snacks, and Exploding Snap with Ominis, Poppy, Natty, Garreth, and Amit certainly made for a lovely journey through the countryside) but seeing as he could easily get all his supplies in Hogsmeade and simply use the Floo Network to travel to the castle, it seemed rather silly to invite him to come all the way to London, just to go all the way back.

You remember the way the floor fell out from underneath you the first time you saw him again — teeth as white as a Patronus Charm against the sun-kissed glow of his skin, an impossible surplus of freckles scattered across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, spilling into the curves of his dimples as his lips pulled up into a bright smile, warm brown eyes lit up like afternoon sunlight across the forest floor, somehow even taller and stronger than he'd been only a few months prior as he'd rushed toward you and lifted you off your feet in a dizzying hug, shivers dancing down your spine as he'd buried his face into the crook of your neck and whispered, "Merlin, I've missed you."

By then, you'd finally begun to admit to yourself that maybe, quite possibly, you might have developed something of a small crush on your closest friend. This moment clearly endeavored to whack you round the back of the head with it.

Laughter caught like honey in the back of your throat as you'd pulled back to look at him, cheeks burning like you'd just hugged a living Confringo blast, and said, "Thought you'd be sick of me by now. We only wrote each other every day."

But Sebastian's sincerity only grew stronger.

"Never. Much as I looked forward to your letters, it's not the same as getting to see you in person. Merlin, can't believe it's been almost three months since I last saw you. You look—"

Sebastian paused, eyes lingering on the silken spill of your hair as it cascaded down your shoulders, longer now and out of its usual braid, the healthy glow that had blossomed across your cheeks from all those downtown strolls in the warm summer sun, same bright eyes, same soft smile you always seemed to reserve just for him.

"I sure hope the end of that sentence is good," you'd teased in the wake of the silence that stretched between you, momentarily worried you had some leftover pumpkin pasty on your face, or forgotten to repair a singe in your cloak.

But then Sebastian had let out the softest laugh, ducking his head in a sheepish grin and peering up at you through his lashes. And Merlin, how your heart raced.

"That's one word for it. Good. You look good," he said softly.

He looked at you for a moment longer, lips pulling up into a soft — dare you call it adoring — smile. And then he shook his head, and in the next instant it was gone, replaced by something sharper, cheekier.

"Though it appears you've somehow gotten even shorter since the last time I saw you," he added in a teasing lilt, lifting his arm and settling it atop your head as though you were a particularly moody armrest.

"Or you just shot up over the summer, you bloody tree," you'd quipped, wriggling out from under his arm, only for it to fall around your shoulders and stay there until they called for everyone to take their seats for the start of term feast.

Sebastian's laughter lanced through you like a bolt of lightning, and you spent far more time than you'd care to admit lying awake later that night wondering whether he'd planned it.

The next morning, you awoke to find him waiting for you bright and early outside of your common room, in the midst of a heated debate with the eagle doorknocker over the answer to the riddle when is a door not a door?

"When it's ajar," you'd answered as you stepped out into the corridor, eagerly accepting the freshly-baked croissant held out in his hand.

"That's—" Sebastian blurted out, flustered. "How is that more of a correct answer than a portrait? Ever heard of the Fat Lady? The painting of the ticklish pear? The doorways to both the kitchen and the Gryffindor common room are literally hidden behind a portrait. So technically, my answer was correct."

You'd never seen a doorknocker look so exhausted.

"Does this little serpent belong to you?" the bronze eagle asked you as it cast a wearying glance at Sebastian.

Now that's one hell of a riddle.

"I— yes. He's with me. Sorry," you answered quickly, turning on your heel and steering Sebastian down the corridor before the doorknocker decided to exact vengeance by locking you out of your common room later that night.

You glanced over at the serpent in question, shit-eating grin spread across his ruddy cheeks.

"Sebastian," you prompted as you took in the sight of him, out of breath as he greeted you with a cheeky hello you. "Do you know how many staircases it takes to get from Slytherin Dungeon to Ravenclaw Tower?"

"Oh bloody hell, not another riddle," Sebastian groaned.

"Seventeen," you replied, cheeks aching from the effort of trying not to laugh. "Seventeen staircases. And you climbed all of them this morning just to…what, argue the merits of what makes for a good riddle with my house's doorknocker? You do know I could've just met you in the Great Hall, right? You didn't have to go to all the trouble."

The redness in the hollows of his cheeks spread like wildfire across the bridge of his nose, nearly drowning out the smattering of freckles there.

"Well yeah, I could've just waited downstairs," he brushed it off with false bravado. "But I figured it's only right I escort my charge to her first day of classes. It is a special occasion, after all."

"Is it, now?" you asked, smile growing even wider.

"It is," he quipped. "Did you know it's officially been one whole year since the day we met?" he asked, puffing out his chest with a kind of pride that made your stomach swoop like you just fell through the vanishing step in the grand staircase.

"You mean since I knocked you on your arse?" you teased around a mouthful of warm flaky pastry and rich chocolate.

Sebastian pouted at you and made a grab to take back his croissant, barking out a laugh when you shrieked and proceeded to shove the entire thing into your mouth.

"The very picture of grace," he'd mused, smile fit to bursting as you stuck your tongue out at him.

"Speaking of which," he added, smile turning sly. "I think it's high time we had a rematch, wouldn't you?"

"Eager to make losing to me a yearly tradition?" you smirked.

"You wish," he snorted, smile fond as he rolled his eyes. "Meet me in the Undercroft after your last class, and we'll set the record back to rights."

"I look forward to sweeping you off your feet again," you countered with a playful smile.

Sebastian's eyebrows drew up the slightest fraction, lips pulling into a soft, amused smile as he let out a sound that was half hum, half laughter.

"Here's hoping one of these days I can manage to do the same," he'd mused, all the air rushing out of your lungs in a single breath as he took a step closer and reached out to swipe his thumb across your lower lip.

You had half a mind to wonder whether the duel had begun early, whether he'd been practicing wandless, nonverbal spells over the summer, and had struck you unawares with a combination of ice and fire charms, heart pounding in your chest as you watched his tongue dart out to lick a dab of melted chocolate off the edge of his thumb, darkened gaze locked on yours the whole time.

"See you then," he said, the low hum of his laughter stirring something that felt an awful lot like wings in the pit of your stomach, threatening to burst out of you and chase him down the corridor as you watched him walk away.

It took you five whole minutes to find your way to your first class, despite the fact that he'd literally walked you to the door.

You were still in a bit of a daze when you'd strolled through the sliding gate several hours later, hair wild from a particularly humid session in Potions brewing your first-ever N.E.W.T. level Draught Of Living Death, a streak of dirt on your nose from wrangling a screaming mandrake into a fresh pot of soil in Herbology — at least, that's the excuse you'd told yourself when Sebastian caught you off guard in the middle of your rematch, knocking you off your feet with a well-timed Depulso that had absolutely nothing to do with the way his forearms flexed beneath his rolled-up sleeves.

The spell hit you directly in the stomach and had you gasping like you'd just been struck by a charging graphorn. You vaguely registered the clattering of a dropped wand against worn stone, and in the next moment, Sebastian was on his knees beside you, hands reaching out reflexively and then faltering in midair, like he wasn't sure what to do, whether he was allowed to touch you.

You'd laughed it off, relieved for that first rush of air back into your lungs, head swiveling to where he kneeled beside you, preparing to see a sheepish grin, a wincing apology made less effective by a triumphant, gloating smirk, but all you saw when you looked into the eyes of your best friend was sheer terror, and you knew in an instant where his mind had gone.

Sebastian's gaze flitted between your eyes and the place you'd been hit — the very same spot his Cruciatus Curse had struck you less than a year prior.

"Oh Sebastian, it's okay," you reassured him, wincing at the slight wheeze to your voice. "I'm fine, see? It wasn't anything like—"

Sebastian's lower lip trembled, and in the next moment you'd been pulled into a tight embrace, shaking in his arms as seismic sobs wracked his entire body, an endless chorus of I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please forgive me spilling from his lips.

You'd held him back just as tight, assuring him between gentle strokes of his hair that you'd long forgiven him, that you knew he didn't have a choice.

"But I did have a choice," he argued, pulling back to fix you with a red-rimmed scowl. "I led you down there. I insisted. I'm the one who got us into that impossible situation in the first place. I made so many terrible choices, and all that time I let myself believe it was worth it because I thought I was doing the right thing. But in the end, all I did was hurt the people I—" he faltered, swallowing around a sharp burst of nerves that only had half to do with the guilt welling up inside him.

"I've had all summer to relive what I did to you…to everyone," he whispered softly, haunted by ghosts both living and dead as he'd looked into your eyes.

It's the same way he looks at you now, desperate and pleading for forgiveness you've already granted him, absolution he still won't allow himself.

You know how much he regrets it, how deeply it haunts him, even now. You know he's changed, learned from his past mistakes, determined never to repeat them. You know you can trust him. So if Sebastian wants you to learn one of the Unforgivable Curses, then you have to trust that it must be for good reason.

"So you're telling me it's actually possible to fight against the Imperius Curse?" you ask, still wary, but, you'll begrudgingly admit, curiosity effectively piqued. "How in Merlin's name did you ever learn how to do that?"

Sebastian lets out a breath he'd likely been holding that entire time, some of the tension unraveling from his shoulders as his lips pull into a smile like he's relieved you're still standing here with him, eager to share in something new he's learned like it's just another trip to the Restricted Section.

"Well, as you may have noticed, our dear friend Ominis is not exactly thrilled about our choice of career," Sebastian starts, and you can't help the small smile that curls across your lips as a litany of passive aggressive comments about how he'd better not see the two of you anywhere near the Janus Thickey Ward when he starts his residency in June, comes flooding into your memory. Sebastian clocks your smile and his lips twitch into one of his own.

"Keeps lamenting about how he wishes we'd choose something less dangerous," he adds, rolling his eyes in a show of fond amusement. "But that if we absolutely must, then he'd rather we go in fully prepared for what's out there. I'd assumed he was just going to help us practice a few defensive spells, offer to teach us some of the healing charms he's been learning shadowing Nurse Blainey. Imagine my surprise when Ominis Gaunt, self-proclaimed opposer of anything to do with the Dark Arts, offers to teach me the ins and outs of the Imperius Curse."

That certainly does surprise you, helping to put whatever remains of your unsettled nerves at ease. You know Ominis would never agree, let alone be the one to suggest practicing dark magic unless he truly felt it would be beneficial, unless he truly believed Sebastian could be trusted with such a thing.

"We've been practicing nearly every night in the Undercroft for the past several weeks," Sebastian goes on to explain. "I'd have told you sooner, but I didn't want to risk subjecting you to such a spell until I'd grown comfortable using it myself, fighting against its effects. Now that I have…would you like to see how it's done?"

A frisson runs down your spine, and you're not entirely sure whether it's thrill, fear, or some strange combination of the two. You swallow, only trusting yourself to nod.

"Alright then, draw your wand," he instructs, taking a few tentative steps closer until he's standing right behind you, gentle hands wrapping around the wrist of your dominant hand and bringing it into the air alongside his own.

"We'll begin with the wand movements so you can establish muscle memory," he says, warm breath ghosting across the back of your neck as he speaks in a low, soothing voice, sending shivers that have nothing to do with the forbidden magic you're about to perform racing down the length of your spine.

Together, you aim for the opposite wall, following his directions as he speaks them aloud. Arc up…left…up at a sharp diagonal to the right…and then straight back down in a figure four.

After you've completed your first circuit, Sebastian takes a step back and allows you to practice a few more times on your own, making sure you've got the movements just right.

"Good," he says, sounding impressed, but not altogether surprised. "Perfect form, in fact."

You can't help the automatic smile that curves across your lips at his praise.

"Now to put it into practice," he prompts, drawing his own wand from the inside pocket of his cloak and turning round to face you.

"Do you trust me?" he asks softly, fixing you with a serious, almost pleading look, like if you answer no it's as good as casting Crucio.

"You know I do," you answer automatically. Because even though you're still a little nervous at the prospect of delving into darker forms of magic, there's no one you'd rather learn it from.

Sebastian's eyes crinkle in a grateful smile, before quickly shifting back to something more serious.

"Alright then," he says, taking a deep, steadying breath. "Prepare yourself, I'm going to cast it on you."

"I'm ready," you tell him, standing with your spine a little straighter, wand at your side.

"Imperio," he intones, wand flicking through the air in the pattern he'd just taught you.

The effect is instantaneous, a serene sort of blankness settling over your mind like you're floating through the clouds, a comfortable warmth akin to dozing off in front of the fireplace spreading throughout your entire body. Then, clear as a bell, you hear Sebastian's voice ring out inside your head, instructing you to walk over to your desk and bring him back an apple from the bowl set atop. Without even questioning it, you do so, legs moving of their own accord.

"Finite," he says as you come to a sudden stop in front of him, a bright red honeycrisp apple held out in offering in the palm of your hand. The floating high disappears instantly, leaving you feeling out of sorts, a little dazed as you stare down at the apple, almost as if you'd dreamed you'd gone to fetch it.

"How are you feeling? Are you alright?" he asks, checking you over like he's the one preparing for a Healer's career. "It can be a little overwhelming when you first experience it. Part of why I asked you to bring that," he adds, pointing down at the apple. "The sugars will help you recover."

Sebastian's always had a bit of a sweet tooth, but the sudden uptick in the sheer amount of sugar quills you'd seen stuck between his teeth as of late suddenly makes a lot more sense. Slowly, as though testing the bounds of being back in control of your own limbs, you lift the apple to your lips and take a small bite, mulling over his question.

"It was…strange," you decide, aware that's the biggest understatement of the century. "I know I should've been scared, but instead I felt oddly serene."

"That's what it does to you," Sebastian nods solemnly. "Lulls you into a false sense of security. Tricks your mind into complacency, like you're merely a vessel and someone else is steering the ship."

"I can see how it earned the name unforgivable," you agree with a grimace. "I reckon the only reason I'm not nearly as unnerved as I should be right now is because I knew you were the one casting it."

"That's exactly why I wanted to be the one to teach you," he says with renewed conviction. "In order to learn how to defend ourselves against it, it's important to practice with someone we trust."

"Which is why," he adds with a wry chuckle. "You're going to be the one casting it on me next."

Your lips part in surprise. Even though you knew it was coming, it still catches you off guard.

"Are— are you sure?" you ask warily.

"Course I am," he reassures you with a confident grin. "As I said, it's important to know what it feels like from both sides, understand the kind of power you wield."

You stare at him for a moment, mulling it over, and then give him a curt nod, taking a few steps back to allow enough room for a safe cast.

"Remember, you have to mean it," he reminds you, stowing his wand in his pocket and standing in front of you with his arms behind his back. "Concentrate. Think the command very clearly in your mind."

You take a deep breath as you square your shoulders, assume your stance, and raise your wand.

"Alright, I'm going to cast it," you tell him, giving him the same warning he'd granted you.

"I'm ready," he assures you in an echo of your words.

"Imperio," you say aloud, and a warm weight like you've just been handed the reigns to the carriage of Helios himself settles into your dominant hand. The effect on your intended target is immediate, spine straightening as he stands to attention, an eerie green glow flickering to life in the heart of his warm brown eyes.

You nearly lose your nerve when you see it, an overwhelming, all-consuming realization that you're completely in control of another human being settling into the pit of your stomach like lead, terrified that one wrong move could potentially hurt your dearest friend. But then you remind yourself that he's the one who asked you to cast it on him, that you're learning this spell for a reason, and so you close your eyes and clear your mind, focusing on the task at hand.

Walk over to the desk and bring back one of Highwing's feathers, and then place it behind my ear, your own voice rings out inside your head, clear as crystal. You open your eyes in time to see Sebastian already on the move, watching with a kind of macabre fascination as he does exactly as you'd commanded.

"Finite," you say the moment you feel the quill gently slide into place behind your left ear — though at first you wonder whether you've done it right, when Sebastian doesn't immediately withdraw his hand, instead letting it linger to brush back a lock of hair and tuck it behind your ear to join the bright white feather. You're saved from worry when he clears his throat a moment later, the bridge of his nose dusted in a curious shade of pink.

"A perfect first cast," he tells you, and although you don't necessarily want to be proud that you'd gotten such a dark spell right on your very first try, you can't help but preen a little at his praise.

"Now, I want you to try it again, but this time, let's focus on recitation," he says, backing up a few paces and resuming his stance from before. "Think the words very clearly inside your mind and watch as they come spilling out of my mouth as though we were a living ventriloquist act," he quips, lips curling up in a wry smile.

Used to his rather dark sense of humor in light of things he should probably take a bit more seriously, you merely smirk and roll your eyes.

After another steadying breath, you lift your wand and cast it again, beginning with a simple, "Hi, my name is Sebastian Sallow, and I'm a seventh year Slytherin at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," watching in equal parts wonder and horror as he repeats every word you'd just been thinking in perfect recitation.

That's what an utterly ridiculous idea comes to you, and, curious to test the bounds of the enchantment beyond mere facts and figures, you instruct him to say something you know he never would of his own accord.

"Hello, I'm Sebastian Mallowsweet, and cockroach clusters are my favorite treat in all the world! I can't wait to buy a whole barrel from Honeydukes the next time I'm in Hogsmeade," Sebastian repeats in a bright, cheerful voice that makes you giggle so hard you nearly slip up and lose your hold on the spell, but not before you get him to add in a hearty, "Perhaps I'll share some with my best mate, Duncan Hobhouse, the bravest man I've ever known."

"Finite," you manage between poorly-stifled bouts of laughter.

"Oh, that's just cruel," Sebastian chides you with a playful scowl, shaking himself out of the enchantment.

"I'm not sure what's worse, the image of a whole barrel of cockroach clusters, or the idea of voluntarily spending time with Puffskein Dunkein," he adds with a sharper shudder toward the latter. "Rest assured I'll get you back for that heinous slander."

At this point you're a lost cause, laughing so hard it's like you've downed a dozen shots of giggle water, shoulders shaking as you struggle to regain composure. Try as he might, Sebastian can't even pretend to be cross with you, lips quirking up at the corners in a fond smile.

"It's a power feeling, isn't it?" he asks softly, giving you an appraising look, curious to see how you'll answer.

"Is it bad that I sort of enjoyed it?" you ask, wincing as though you've just admitted something wicked.

Sebastian studies you for a moment, choosing his next words very carefully.

"There's nothing wrong with the thrill that comes with learning a bit of forbidden magic," he says thoughtfully. "As long as you're responsible about how you use it."

"Some people learn that lesson through trial and error," he continues, lips twisting into a self-effacing frown. "And to some, it just comes naturally. Given that I am speaking to the person who had the chance to take one of the most powerful sources of magic known to wizardkind and keep it all to herself, but chose not to…I think it's safe to say you've more than proven yourself."

Your lips pull up in a small, grateful smile.

"And let's not forget one very important caveat: I gave you full permission to cast it on me and make me say whatever you wanted," he reminds you. "So let me ask you this: would you ever cast it on me without my consent?"

"Of course not!" you answer without hesitation, scandalized by the very thought.

"There you go," he says with a reassuring smile. "So, no, you're not a bad person for enjoying that little moment of power, because in the end, all you did was make a friend say something silly."

"But the kinds of people who usually wield this type of spell…well, let's just say their intentions aren't quite so whimsical," he says, grounding you back in a sharper reality, the chilling warning like a gust of wind through lantern light, reminding just how dark and twisted the path through the woods can be.

"Which is precisely why you're learning it," he says with bright conviction. "So you can understand the dangers of it, learn how to fight against it."

"Now, with your permission, I'm going to cast it again, and this time, I want you to try to break it, alright? Concentrate on channeling your own wants and needs, making your own voice louder than the one giving the commands."

You give him a firm nod of affirmation, wand held steady at your side.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Ready," you reply.

Sebastian raises his wand.

You brace yourself for it this time, try to shake yourself out of the fog the moment it hits. Just before you slip under, you see Sebastian's lips curl upward in a mischievous smirk, dark eyes glinting with mirth. It doesn't take long for you to figure out why, when, true to his promise to get you back for your little cockroach clusters prank, the words, "Sebastian Sallow is the best in our year — a dueling champion, clever as Merlin, graceful as a phoenix on the wind," come tumbling out of your mouth without your approval.

You concentrate all your effort on trying to break his hold on you, your own voice snorting with laughter inside your head as you recall that first day in Defence Against The Dark Arts when you'd knocked that cocky little smirk clean off his face with a single blow. Dueling champion, my arse.

That little burst of your own laughter grounds you, gives you clarity, strengthens your resolve to push back against the commanding voice inside your head, until you feel the curse's hold on you start to weaken, little by little, like the steady tick tick tick of an unlocking charm, before all the right tumblers and springs click into place.

Spell broken, you decide that the best way to get Sebastian back is to take his own ostentatious accolades a step further, hand over your heart as you pretend to swoon, sighing, "Devilishly charming, too. I would gladly spend hours charting constellations in the freckles that adorn his handsome face."

"With my lips," you add with a salacious wink to really drive it home, delighting in the way his whole face goes up in flames, burning brighter than a Confringo blast.

(The fact that it's all true is irrelevant. The point of the thing is to tease him, and judging by the stupefied look on his face, you've succeeded.)

"I—" Sebastian falters, embarrassingly breathless. "Hang on, I didn't tell you to say any of that!"

"That's right!" you exclaim, doubled over laughing for the second time in as many minutes. "I'd already broken your hold on me, that was me having a lark," you tell him, beaming with pride.

Sebastian looks relieved and disappointed all at once.

"That's…that's amazing," he manages. "Broke free from the enchantment on your very first try. You really are something special, you know that?"

You sweep into a low, theatrical bow like a performer on a stage, lips curving up in a smile when he snorts with laughter.

"Alright now, don't get cocky," he chides with a playful roll of his eyes. "While that was excellent for a first try, I still managed to get in a few commands before you broke the enchantment. So, we're going to keep practicing until you're able to completely throw it off from the get-go, alright?"

"Yes, professor," you tease him, stifling one last bout of giggles as he levels you with an admonishing arch of his eyebrow, though the fond upturn of his lips gives him away.

"Cheeky," he chuckles, shaking his head.

You can't help but stick your tongue out at him, further proving his point.

"Now, as you'll have no doubt noticed, fighting off verbal vs. physical commands requires different levels of concentration and technique," he continues, assuming a professorial stance in spite of (or perhaps, unconsciously, because of) your playful commentary. "One is merely a matter of holding your tongue, but it's a different game entirely having to fight for control over the entire rest of your body."

"With that said, I'm going to cast it again," he warns, wand at the ready. "And this time, I want you to practice fighting against a physical command."

"Ready?" he asks, checking in one last time.

"Ready," you nod, back straight as you prepare for the incantation.

"Imperio," he says, and in an instant, that same serene blankness creeps in, only this time, it's like you can make out distinct shapes in the fog, growing clearer and clearer the harder you focus, the more you ground yourself, holding fast to your own thoughts, your own feelings, your own desires.

His task is simple — button his cloak and straighten his tie.

You feel your feet start to move toward him, hands raising to complete the command, when—

No, your own voice rings out, loud and clear. I don't want to do that.

Your hands settle over the front of his cloak, pausing as they inch closer to the open clasp.

Button my cloak and straighten my tie, Sebastian's voice calls out again, more insistent this time. But the voice that answers — your voice — is so much louder and stronger.

No, you stand your ground, snapping back with a triumphant laugh. No, I really don't think I will.

In fact, that's the last thing I want to do right now, you muse, lips curving upward in a cheeky grin.

A heady rush of defiance and determination surges through your veins, lighting up all your nerve endings like a live wire, and in your eagerness to rebel against the enchantment, you end up doing the complete opposite of Sebastian's request, hands sliding under the fabric of his cloak and slipping it off of his shoulders in one swift, fluid sweep, silk-lined wool pooling at his feet as you dive straight for his necktie, making a fine mess of the striped emerald and silver satin in your eager attempts to loosen it, fingers curling around smooth silk and giving it a gentle tug to urge him closer, unraveling until it's completely come undone, spilling into the hood of his cloak.

You can't help but notice how pretty and pale his throat looks beneath it, adam's apple straining with each swallow, caught on the edge of a soft, stuttered groan as you slide your hands up the length of his chest, fingertips dancing across the back of his neck and threading through the soft chestnut curls at his nape. Your eyes follow the movement with a needy, yearning kind of hunger, consumed by the thought of how much prettier it would look littered with pink and purple bruises in the shape of your lips.

A sharp intake of breath sends your senses into overdrive, head swimming in an intoxicating blend of spearmint and strawberry sugar quills lingering on the edge of his lips and the tip of his tongue, and suddenly all you can focus on is how badly you want to taste it. The words kiss me ring out inside your head, desperate and longing, and for a moment, you can't tell whether it's his voice or your own imagination, caught up in a fantasy you've been playing out inside your head for the past two and a half years.

Whatever remains of the enchantment's hold on you is immediately withdrawn, sobriety washing back over you like a sudden plunge into a freezing lake, stumbling forward as Sebastian takes a few cautionary steps back. Instinctively, he reaches out to steady you, gentle hands prying yours from around the collar of his button-up shirt. He holds them there between the two of you for a moment, and then slowly glances down, letting out a small gasp when he realizes he's touching you, and immediately pulls away like he's just been burned.

He looks at you like he's afraid of you, eyes wide with panic and shame, a fiery red heat blossoming in the hollows of his cheeks.

For a moment, you're terrified you've crossed some sort of line, turned his stomach with the regret of having to eat his own words, all that lavish praise he'd bestowed upon you, all those gallant notions of a natural proclivity for responsibility, moral compass thrown off course by the magnet that always seems to pull you toward him.

Your mind reels as you struggle to process what just happened, one little moment changing the course of everything in the space of a few seconds. It all happened so fast — one minute you were fighting against the enchantment, and the next, your hands were in his hair, all sense lost to everything but how soft it felt beneath your fingertips, swept up in the way those warm brown eyes fixed on yours like he burned for you, sunlit warmth and dulcet sugar ghosting across your lips with each breath, and suddenly all you could think about was how desperately you wanted to kiss him, so focused on channeling your own thoughts and feelings into a shield to defend yourself against the curse, you unwittingly summoned everything you've ever wanted to the surface, all those long-held desires you've tried so hard to keep buried, unearthed.

You open your mouth to apologize for getting carried away, scrambling to come up with a reasonable explanation that doesn't involve spilling your deepest secrets, pouring your heart out to the man who's held it captive for years, hoping like hell the connection severed before he heard those stupid little words ring out inside your head, that you haven't completely ruined your friendship — but before you get the chance, he's the one who starts talking, a litany of apologies falling from his lips at a dizzying speed, promising you that he would never, ever use Imperio to make you kiss him of all things, begging you to trust him.

You blink in surprise. What's he on about? Of course you trust him. That was never in question. He's mischievous, certainly, a silver-tongued charmer when he wants to get his way, but you know he would never do anything as villainous as use potions or spells to try to get someone to…to…

Oh.

So you hadn't imagined it, then.

His thoughts. His words. His voice. Wrapped so sweetly around those two little words.

Kiss me.

Not a command, but a subconscious desire, just like yours.

Sebastian wanted you to kiss him.

A mad, blissful smile spreads across your face, heart pounding in your throat as it threatens to leap right out of your chest. Your lips part, willing the right words to come, to assure him it's more than alright, but his anxious steamrolling doesn't give you the chance.

"I'm sorry," Sebastian cries, agonized. "I'm so sorry. You have to believe me, I would never take advantage of you like that. I swear to you it wasn't intentional, I just got carried away in the moment and it sort of slipped out. Beautiful girl tugging at my clothes like that, soft hands running through my hair, the way your eyes sort of burned when you looked at me, I—"

His expression softens to something you'd dare call smitten, lips curving upward in a big, goofy grin as he plays it back, and then quickly shakes his head, admonishing himself.

"Merlin, there I go again," he sighs, wincing in embarrassment as he chances a glance at you, an earnest longing burning in his eyes that makes your heart ache with the need to reach out and touch him. "I've tried so hard for so long to keep my feelings in check, because I know you don't feel the same way, and the last thing I want to do is jeopardize our friendship, so I—"

You're certain the end of that sentence would've been lovely and heartfelt, but you'll never know for sure, the rest of his words swallowed in a soft, surprised oh as you rush forward, closing the distance between you and pressing your lips against his. It's soft and small and tentative, hands gently cradling the sides of his face to keep you both steady, but when you pull back a moment later, Sebastian looks at you like he's just been Confunded, his face an adorable blend between shocked and hopeful, sun-kissed freckles spilling into the curves of his dimples as his lips curve into a bright, blissful smile.

And then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it's gone, replaced by apprehension and disbelief.

"Wait," Sebastian falters, holding you back at arm's length and looking you over with the same care and consideration he'd shown the first time he cast the curse on you, concern etched into his narrowed eyebrows. "Are you still under my spell?"

You can't help the smirk that curls across your lips at his choice of wording.

"In a manner of speaking," you reply, sly smile turning soft as you reassure him, "but not in the way you're thinking."

Sebastian blinks at you, confused.

"Then why would you…do that?" he asks, like he genuinely can't believe you'd kiss him of your own accord.

"Because I wanted to," you tell him, and the weight of it makes you laugh like you're about to cry. "I've wanted to kiss you for so long, Sebastian, you have no idea."

Sebastian's breath comes out in a sharp burst, redolent of that same euphoric laughter bubbling up inside your chest.

"How long?" he asks.

"Since you took the fall for me that night we got caught sneaking into the Restricted Section," you tell him, smiling fondly at the memory.

"The first time, that is," you add with a wry chuckle.

Sebastian lets out a disbelieving laugh, raking a hand through his hair and grinning at you like he would gladly go back and do it all over again.

"And you?" you ask tentatively, hardly daring to believe this is actually happening.

Sebastian's lips pull up into a playful smile.

"About five seconds after you knocked me on my arse during our first duel."

Now it's your turn to let out a surprised laugh. All that time you spent thinking your feelings were one-sided, and he's the one who fell first.

"It took you five whole seconds?" you tease, slipping easily back into your usual banter, reveling in the fact that you can freely flirt with him now.

Sebastian snorts with laughter.

"Yes, well…if you'll recall, I was rather stupid back then," he heaves a dramatic sigh. "After all, it took me two and half years to finally work up the nerve to kiss you."

"I'm the one who kissed you," you remind him, quirking an amused eyebrow at him.

"Ah, still besting me, I see," he chuckles, warm breath ghosting across your lips as he takes a step closer.

"Oh, but I wonder…do I still have the power to knock you on your arse?" you tease in a soft, low murmur.

His eyes do a slow, deliberate sweep down to your lips, tongue darting out to lick his own in anticipation, before slowly trailing back up to meet your eyes.

"Every time you smile at me," he replies with a cheeky smirk.

"You charming bastard," you chide him, laughter swallowed up in another kiss as he leans forward to press his lips against yours.

"Mmm, that reminds me," Sebastian murmurs in between stolen kisses, smiling against your lips as you let out a needy whimper, already addicted to the way he tastes.

"So, earlier…when you called me devilishly charming and told me you wanted to — what was it — chart constellations in the freckles that adorn my handsome face…you really meant that?" he teases, positively beaming.

The look on his face is so smug, you're torn between wanting to knock him on his arse again, and wanting to kiss the stupid smirk right off his stupid, handsome face. (Though you already know which one is going to win out.)

"Oh, fuck off," you laugh. "Yes, I think you're handsome and charming—"

"Devilishly so."

"Yes, yes, you absolute menace. I think we've well and truly established that I like you," you wave him off, rolling your eyes in fond amusement. "Now, shut up and kiss me."

Sebastian chuckles under his breath and starts to lean forward, stopping just short of your lips, making you let out another impatient whine.

"Just one more thing," he says, remnants of mint and sugar ghosting across your lips as he leans in close, voice dropping to a low, prowling murmur. "You are, without a doubt, the most breathtakingly beautiful person on the face of this earth, and I consider it a goddamn tragedy worse than the falling out of the founders that I've gone this long without the pleasure of reminding you every single day from the moment we met."

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him, spellbound by his words, heart aching to leap right out of your throat and build a home inside his chest right next to his own, and then you're rushing forward, closing that hairsbreadth distance that might as well be the space between two mountains, crashing your lips against his and kissing him senseless.

Your hands are everywhere, tugging at his shirt, threading through his hair, pulling him as close as possible. So lost in the intoxicating touch and taste of him that you don't realize you've been steadily moving backwards until your backside collides with the sharp corner of your desk. You let out a startled gasp that quickly turns to laughter, head lolling against Sebastian's shoulder as your own shake with self-effacing mirth.

"Are you alright?" he asks, concern akin to a battle with an ashwinder and not a piece of inanimate furniture. You manage a small nod through your laughter.

"Damn desk, bruising my girl," Sebastian scowls, the words my girl sending a thrill like a bolt of lightning right through you.

You let out a surprised giggle as he picks you up and gently places you on top of the desk, settling between your thighs.

"The only kind of marks you should ever have on you are the ones from my lips," he whispers in between soft, slow, teasing kisses up the length of your neck, sucking a bruise against your pulse point that has you curling your fingers through his hair and moaning his name.

"Always hoped I'd hear you say my name like that," he murmurs in a deep, rumbling growl you can feel thrumming between your ribs like thunder.

Eager to return the favor, you thread your fingers through his hair and give him a gentle yet insistent tug, delighting in the way it elicits a rough, guttural moan in the back of his throat, pulse point jumping beneath your touch as you run your tongue along the curve of his adam's apple.

You're fairly certain one of the buttons goes rolling off under the desk as you tear open his shirt and splay your hands across his chest, pleased to find a whole new canvas of well-earned muscle teeming with sun-kissed freckled dotted between soft patches of chestnut hair, uncharted territory just begging to be mapped out with your lips.

By contrast, Sebastian is equal parts gentle and nervous. Clumsy, trembling fingers work the buttons of your blouse and the lacings of your bra until you're completely bare before him, the flowing fabric of your sleeves hanging loosely off your shoulders. For several long moments, all he can seem to do is stare at you like you're a miracle made real, licking his lips in anticipation as his eyes rake across your breasts.

Sebastian's gaze flickers up to yours, a silent plea. You let out a soft breath, nodding eagerly. In the next second, he's pressed in close again, warm hands skimming up the length of your torso before gently settling under the swell of your breasts, holding you like you're a precious artefact, pleasure sparking low in your core as hard-earned callouses graze across your nipples with a perfect texture.

Sebastian lets out a soft hum as he feels them pebble against the palm of his hand, eyebrows arching in a kind of curious fascination as he glances down at his own hands like he's just performed a spectacular bit of magic. Freckled cheeks curve into an eager smile as he ducks his head down, pressing a series of tentative, exploring kisses from the soft slope of your breasts down to the pale peaks of your nipples, taking one of them into his mouth and applying the gentlest bit of suction as he swipes his tongue across the sensitive bud, grinning in triumph as you let out a lurid moan and arch into his touch.

He pockets that bit of very useful information for later as he slowly makes his way back up toward your lips, eager to kiss you again, peppering fevered kisses across your collarbones and up the length of your neck, not wanting to miss a single inch of skin. Within seconds, he's captured your lips in a searing kiss, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gently cradling your cheek as he kisses you breathless, groaning into your mouth as you pull him flush against you, soft breasts pressed against the hard plane of his chest, heathered skirt hiked up around your hips as he cages you in.

Sebastian's rapidly growing hardness is an insistent pressure between your thighs, sparking your own arousal in a pleasant ache that pulses through your core with each touch. In an effort to get even closer to you, Sebastian shifts, and the head of his cock inadvertently grinds between the gusset of your underwear, sending shock waves of pleasure that have you gasping into his mouth, white-knuckling the sleeves of his shirt.

You can't take it anymore. It's too much and not nearly enough all at once. You need more of him. You need all of him.

"Sebastian," you sigh, breathless between kisses. "Do you— do you have protection?"

"Protection?" Sebastian pulls back to look at you, eyebrows arched in a look of adorable confusion.

"From what? I doubt anything will attack us while we're in—" he stutters as the tip of your finger curls into the waistband of his trousers and gives a suggestive tug forward.

"Oh," Sebastian's eyebrows jump in surprise.

"Unless you don't want—" you immediately pull back, feeling foolish.

"Oh, I want," he insists, drawing you back toward him, voice rough and pleading with exactly how much he wants. "I was just caught off guard. I wasn't expecting—"

Sebastian falters, nerves ramping up again.

"You have to know, when I asked you to come out with me tonight, I wasn't expecting any of this."

"I know you weren't," you reassure him with soft, gentle strokes through his hair. "I trust you, remember?"

Sebastian nods, breathing out on a sigh of relief.

"But, yeah…if you're asking me to be honest…stick a pin in trying to be a gentleman," he lets out a sheepish laugh, one of his hands coming up to attack a phantom itch on the back of his neck. "Then the answer is a resounding, embarrassingly keen yes. I very much want to."

"I do too," you admit with a shy giggle, fingers curling under the collar of his shirt to draw him in for another, softer kiss.

The moment the words leave your mouth, two small crystal phials appear next to you on the desk, labeled in pristine print across each side: infecunditatem temporalis, XXIV h. — temporary infertility, lasting twenty-four hours.

The two of you stare down at them for a moment, blinking in surprise, and then slowly pick them up.

"Well, that's handy," Sebastian remarks with a breathless laugh. "This room really does think of everything."

"Cheers," you murmur softly, instinctually linking arms the same way you've always done for every shot of Firewhisky and post-match Butterbeer toast, before downing your respective phials in one swig.

You set them back down on top of the desk and glance up at one another, suddenly nervous.

"I've never done this before…have you?" you ask, not entirely sure you want to know the answer. You've always been exceptionally close, but you doubt he's told you everything.

"Ah well, you know me…" Sebastian starts with a cocky upturn of his lips, and then immediately deflates, letting out a long, slow, defeated sigh. He knows he'd never be able to lie to you, but a part of him momentarily considers whether he should, irrational fear mingling with a deep-seated insecurity that you'll be put off when you find out he has no idea what he's doing. He's researched, of course. Extensively. But it's not like he's ever put it into practice.

"No," he sighs, admitting it like it's some kind of flaw. "Most I've ever done is kiss someone…and that was back in fourth year…on a dare."

He doesn't miss the way your shoulders relax, relief in the form of a small smile curling across your lips, and suddenly he's very glad he never did anything for the sake of just getting it over with, rebounding his hopeless feelings with some faceless stranger wishing it was you, giddy with a heady mix of nerves and excitement that he'll get to be your first.

And if he's very, very lucky, your only.

"And since?" you nudge, keen to hear him say it.

Sebastian's lips quirk up in a playful grin.

"There's only one person I've wanted to kiss since then," he says, leaning forward to capture your lips in a slow, deep kiss.

"Only one person I've imagined lain on their back as I fall to my knees and bury my lips between their thighs," Sebastian confesses in a low, hungry growl, punctuating each word with a searing kiss as he slowly works his way down the length of your body, mouthing at your neck, between your breasts, across the ticklish plane of your stomach, until he's on his knees in front of you, gazing up at you like you're a brand new constellation in a starless night sky.

"You've no idea how badly I've been longing for a view like this," he says with an appreciative groan, kissing a hungry trail up your inner thighs. "Makes the view from the top of the Astronomy Tower look rather dull by comparison."

You can't help the blissful laugh that escapes you, legs trembling beneath his eager lips. Sebastian pauses his ministrations to look up at you, eyebrows arching in lighthearted indignation.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I say something funny?" he admonishes, nipping playfully at your inner thigh and making you let out a sharp peal of laughter.

"No, it's just…oh, please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm just…pleasantly surprised, is all," you giggle.

"Whatever for?" he asks, rising back up to meet you. You throw your arms around his shoulders and pull him close, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose.

"You hear stories…about men who absolutely refuse to do that sort of thing, yet seem to expect it from their partners," you explain, thinking back to all those hushed conversations you'd overheard in the girls' lavatories, whispered in the dark before bedtime. "I suppose a part of me has always wondered whether you'd be the same. More of a taker than a giver in the bedroom."

Sebastian leans back to look at you, lips pulling into a frown.

"On the one hand, I'm insulted you think I'd do anything short of worship you," he says, diving back in to press a series of hungry kisses up the length of your neck that have you shaking in anticipation of such a promise.

"But on the other," he counters, pulling back to fix you with a teasing smirk. "It's nice to know you've spent a great deal of time thinking about what I'd be like in the bedroom."

A carmine blush creeps across your cheeks as you remember all the times you'd done far more than just think about him, careful to draw your curtains and cast a silencing charm so no one would hear you when you called out his name.

If only he knew…

…come morning, you'll make certain he does.

"Speaking of which—" Sebastian prompts, eyes darting around the room with an appraising frown, before landing on the desktop underneath you, broken quills and crumpled sheets of parchment hastily shoved aside to make room for your — ahem, more amorous ventures.

"This room might be fine for study and spellwork, but it's not the most romantic of places. I can fix that," he says, giving you a wry smile as he offers you his hand and helps you down from the desk.

"Just close my eyes and picture what I want, yeah?" he asks, looking to you for reassurance. You nod in encouragement, slipping your fingers between his and giving the palm of his hand an affectionate squeeze.

Sebastian closes his eyes and concentrates, summoning two and a half years' worth of fantasies to the forefront of his mind. A moment later, there's a soft grind of stone, and the two of you glance up in time to see a marble statue of an owl that's always sat in the alcove between the grasslands and the coastal vivarium twisting into an invisible recess in the floor, revealing a brand new corridor in its wake.

You let out a startled laugh as Sebastian scoops you up into his arms and carries you down the corridor, lulled by the excited thrum of his heartbeat as you bury your face into his chest and wrap your arms around his neck. In just a few short strides, you arrive at the end of the hallway, where a handsome set of oak doors adorned with elegant swirling filigree in blossoming flowers and twisting vines, crescent moons and little stars, springs to life like fast-growing ivy.

You reach out to turn the handle, and for a moment, you're plunged into total darkness, the room beyond an unfinished painting, transforming before your very eyes the moment the two of you step inside, polished floorboards rippling into place like piano keys playing an arpeggio, walls and ceiling a patchwork puzzle as they slowly piece themselves together.

Brushstrokes in deep ocean blues and dark verdant greens turn the heart of the Forbidden Forest under a midnight sky into a painter's palette, dozens of paper lanterns lit by softly flickering candlelight floating all around you like fireflies, bathing the room in hazy hues of silver and gold as they mingle with the light of the crescent moon trickling down from up above, ceiling enchanted to look as though it opens out onto the heavens, night sky glittering with thousands of shooting stars.

A trail of your favorite flower petals leads to a cozy alcove bed cradled between two recessed bookshelves brimming with pristine leather-bounds the two of you will no doubt spend hours perusing at leisure, gossamer curtains woven with intricate stars and crescent moons spilling down across the silken sheets.

The gentle cadence of rainfall taps its fingertips against the glass of an ornate three-paned window set just above the bed, painted in a perfect replica of the sprawling landscapes from the hidden corridor he'd shown you earlier in the night, while a crackling fireplace dances merrily in the heart of a cozy reading nook complete with two plush armchairs tucked together side by side.

Sebastian lets out a contented hum as the last little details of the room settle into place, glancing down to gauge your reaction, eager to know what you think.

"Oh, Sebastian," you whisper as you gaze around the room, candlelight dancing like flecks of gold in your eyes. "It's beautiful."

Sebastian beams. Of all the times you managed to leave him utterly spellbound tonight, it's a point of pride to finally be able to elicit the same response from you.

"Trust I've been dreaming of the perfect place to be romantic with you for quite some time," he murmurs, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against your cheek.

You gaze up at him adoringly and lean up to kiss him, butterflies taking flight in your stomach when you feel the hard press of his uncontainable smile against your lips.

"Now, where were we?" he whispers, whisking you away to the cozy alcove bed at the heart of the room and gently setting you down at its edge between the star-strewn curtains.

As though he can't stand to be parted from you for a second longer, Sebastian sweeps forward to capture your lips in another breath-stealing kiss, gentle hands sliding across the curve of your jaw to thread through the hair at the back of your neck, cradling the back of your head as he kisses you slowly, deeply, savoring every second.

He takes his time peeling off the layers of your clothing, unwrapping you like a gift, hands sliding between bare skin and soft cotton until your blouse comes spilling off your shoulders to pool around your waist, eager lips following its trajectory as he presses a series of adoring kisses down the column of your throat, tongue darting out to smooth across the tender, claiming bruise he'd left on your pulse point, smirking at the way it jumps beneath his touch, gently palming at your breasts as he makes his slow descent.

Where before he'd allowed himself a small taste, this time Sebastian indulges, falling to his knees and burying his face between your breasts, pressing lavish kisses in time to the beat of your heart, before taking the nipple he hadn't had the pleasure of tasting earlier into his mouth and applying a gentle suction, delighting in the way it elicits the same sinful response from you as it did before.

Not wanting to neglect either of them, Sebastian tries to mimic the same technique on the one not currently occupied by his mouth with his fingers, gently kneading the pebbled peak between his thumb and index finger. Clearly it's the right move, because the moment he does both in tandem, you let out a sharp gasp, arching your back in an effort to get even closer to him, fingers curling around the sleeves of his shirt and gripping tight.

Sebastian chuckles, a low rumbling laugh that vibrates like a crackle of thunder inside your chest as he worships every delectable detail of your breasts, until a series of pink and purple bruises in the shape of his lips starts to blossom across your skin. The sight of it stirs something primal inside him, little reminders lasting well beyond tonight that let everyone know you're his.

Sebastian would gladly spend the rest of his days buried between your breasts, but the curious, insatiable, thrill-seeking side of him is eager to keep exploring, map out every inch of your body with his hands, lips, and tongue until he's memorized every single way you love to be touched, keen to know what other addictive sounds he can get you to make.

He presses a trail of kisses down your torso, smiling when you giggle and squirm beneath him as his lips tickle the curves of your stomach, pausing when he reaches the waistline of your skirt.

"Lay back, darling. Let me take care of you," he insists in a low whisper, sending heat like an inferno straight to your core. You do as he asks, hair fanning out across the sheets, a cool press of silk against your fevered skin.

Deft fingers carefully work the buttons at your waist, unraveling your wrap-around skirt until it's laid out flat beneath you. Hands shaking from a mess of excitement and nerves, Sebastian carefully hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your knickers and slowly slides them down your legs, breath hitching when you tilt your hips to help ease them off, giving him a glimpse of your backside.

"Fuck, you're stunning," he says with a wrecked, desperate groan that has you blushing like you've just downed a shot of Firewhisky, laid bare beneath his hungry gaze as he takes a moment to drink you in.

"Can I touch you?" he asks in a quiet, almost pleading voice.

"Please," you tell him, just as desperate.

Nervous, gentle hands slide up along the outside of your thighs, smoothing over the curves of your hips before settling in the space between, breathing out on a soft, stuttered gasp as his fingers thread through the soft patch of curls at the apex of your thighs.

He skims a finger featherlight along the seam of your lips, testing the waters before delving deeper, a low groan rumbling in the back of his throat when he feels how wet you already are for him. Heat pools low in your belly as he slides between your folds in an achingly slow tease, sending shivers like shock waves rolling down the length of your spine, working you into a frenzy as careful, calloused fingers graze your clit.

Once he's satisfied you're ready to take him, fingers coated in your slick, Sebastian slips down to rub teasing circles against your entrance, driving you to the point of madness, canting your hips with soft little whines, until finally, he relents, slowly sliding his ring and middle fingers inside you and curling them in a come hither motion that has you gasping and writhing above him.

"Is this— is this alright?" he asks, concern bleeding through breathless exhilaration.

"It feels amazing, Seb," you manage, yours words barely more than a stuttered moan as his fingers twitch inside you. "Please don't stop touching me."

Your soft gasps and moans guide him to where he needs to go, thumb rubbing heady circles against your clit as his fingers curl in that blissful breath-stuttering way inside you. He works you into a maddening frenzy, pressure slowly building like an arrow being drawn across a bowstring, and Sebastian can't help but let out a low groan each time you flutter and tighten around him. If this is how incredible you feel against his fingers, he can't even imagine how amazing you're going to feel around his cock. Though that particular pleasure will have to wait just a little bit longer, because Sebastian isn't anywhere near finished with you yet.

You let out a needy whine as that delicious pressure suddenly disappears, only to be replaced by a sharp burst of breathless laughter as Sebastian grabs a handful of your backside and hauls you closer to the edge of the bed, coaxing your legs over his shoulders as he buries his face between your thighs.

"Forgive me, darling, but I need to taste you," he groans, tongue darting out to delve between your folds.

"Sebastian," you cry out as a burst of pleasure sparks through you, hands fisting in the sheets. Sebastian lets out another loud moan as you call out his name, tongue gliding down to lick at your entrance, burying himself deep enough to taste your pleasure at the back of his throat, before sweeping back up to capture your clit in a blissful blend of gentle suction and the sinful swirl of his tongue.

Slowly, carefully, he slides his fingers back inside you, curling them against that sweet spot deep within you, lips and tongue working in perfect tandem to worship your clit with the same eager attention he'd given your breasts.

You've never felt so feral in all your life, hands clutching at the sheets as you writhe above him like a wild animal in heat, Sebastian's name spilling from your lips in a flurry of sighs and soft, keening moans. With a contented hum, Sebastian reaches up to gently pry your fingers from the bedspread, lacing his own through yours and giving the palm of your hand an affectionate three-pulse squeeze, encouraging you to hold fast to him instead, not wanting to miss a single detail of just how wild he makes you.

Your other hand follows suit, seeking him out, chestnut curls even softer than the silk sheets as you curl your fingers through his hair and give him an insistent tug, and oh, he really likes it when you're a little rough with him, so desperate and needy for his touch that all you can think to do in that moment is pull him even closer, the low, throaty moans he makes every time you do only serving to heighten your pleasure as they vibrate through your core like rolls of thunder.

He brings you crashing over the edge, wrecked and breathless as you call out his name, begging him between stuttered sighs that you need him to be inside you, now.

Sebastian lets out a soft, blissful breath as he presses a few more kisses to your inner thighs, and then slowly rises to his feet, gaze locked on yours as he swipes the pad of his thumb across his lower lip, tongue darting out to lick the last of your release. The sight is obscene, riling up a primal pride deep within you that only makes you want him even more.

You sit perched on the edge of the bed, reaching up to slide his button-up shirt off his shoulders and running your hands down the length of his torso, soft curves over hard-earned muscle, freckles scattered amidst soft patches of chestnut hair like a star-strewn sky through a forest canopy, pausing to take a steadying breath as you reach the waistband of his trousers. Hands trembling from a mix of nerves and excitement, you carefully work the buttons to relieve him of his trousers, the last layer of clothing left between you.

You take a moment to drink him in, eyes raking down the length of his body in hungry appraisal, letting out a soft gasp as you take in the sight of his generous length, before slowly sweeping back up to meet his gaze again, thrill and desire outweighing any apprehension over his intimidating size. You understand now how he must have felt when he first saw you — every inch of him is absolutely stunning.

You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss, sending the two of you tumbling backward against the pillows, giggling and grinning as you cling to one another. Sebastian kisses you, soft and slow, his body a warm, comforting weight as he settles between your thighs, hovering above you. The two of you breathe in on a stuttered gasp as he takes himself in hand and slides the head of his cock between your folds, coating himself in a combination of his saliva and your release, hesitating as he lines himself up with your entrance.

"Ready?" he asks with a steadying breath, heated gaze locked on yours.

"Ready," you answer, just as breathless as you tilt your hips in invitation.

With a broken, blissed out moan, Sebastian slowly sinks inside, stuttered breaths ghosting across your lips as he closes his eyes and presses his forehead against your own, hips stilling the moment he hears your soft gasp from underneath him.

"How're you feeling, love? Are you alright?" he asks with an edge of panic to his voice, terrified at the thought of hurting you. He keeps still as a statue, giving you a moment to adjust to the sheer size of him.

It's indescribable — the most incredible pressure, a pleasant ache like kneading sore muscles, building and unraveling tension all at once; a feeling of fullness after a life spent starving; a kind of magic even more timeless and powerful than the rarity thrumming through your veins, wonderstruck by how perfectly he fits inside you, like the two of you were made for each other.

"More than alright," you reassure him with a breathless, euphoric laugh. "I feel amazing."

Sebastian lets out a sigh of relief.

"Merlin, that's one word for it," he breathes out on a blissful laugh, eyes rolling back at how amazing you feel wrapped around him. "You're perfect."

He leans down to kiss you, soft and slow and sweet.

"I'm going to start moving now…is that alright?" he asks after a few quiet moments, voice straining like it's been torture holding back.

"Please," you sigh, coaxing him closer as you wrap your legs around the small of his back.

Sebastian sets a slow and steady pace, achingly tender as his hips rock against yours in long, languid thrusts, pressing soft little kisses to your cheeks and the corners of your lips as he moves above you, whispering between kisses how beautiful and breathtaking you are. He's careful and controlled, each move dulcet and deliberate like a slow dance between the sheets, determined to make this perfect for you, determined to get it just right, because it has to be. Because this is you, and you are everything.

He's been dreaming of this moment for years, and a part of him still can't believe it's really happening, that he actually gets to be with you. He's spent the better part of the last two and half years convincing himself you'd never feel the same, that he was lucky just to call you his friend, selfish to want more, that he didn't deserve you…though that never stopped him desperately wanting you all the same.

He understands now why they call it lovesick — feverish blush prickling at his skin, heart beating like a staccato as he moves above you, hands trembling as they gently cradle the back of your head and draw you in for a slow, sweet kiss. It's all-consuming, burning through him in equal measures of fiery fervor and glowing embers, like he's just swallowed an Incendio charm. Incurable — though this is one life sentence he'll gladly serve.

It's overwhelming how amazing you feel wrapped around him, soft hands threading through his hair and tugging ever so gently, legs locked around his hips to keep him anchored in your depths, shallow gasps and stuttered ohs whispered in between soft sighs in the shape of his name as you gaze up at him like he is everything to you.

It would be all too easy for him to lose himself in the euphoria of finally getting to be with you, and Merlin, he wants to.

He wants all of you. It's like he can't get close enough, a primal hunger to fuse himself with you, body and soul, bury himself inside you like treasure, climb inside your chest and build a home inside your heart, dive down to your depths and spill all his secrets inside you, long-held confessions of how deeply he's fallen for you.

The words bubble up inside his chest like steam inside of a screaming tea kettle, burning his throat as years worth of messy, nerve-addled feelings threaten to spill past his lips. He wants to kiss the words into your skin, knit his love so deep within you, you feel it in your bones, with each pulse of your heart, his name a subliminal sigh with each breath you take, until you're inextricably woven together, until he's an irrevocable part of you, just as you are for him.

He aches for you to be his, because he's so desperately yours. He'd shout it from the top of the Astronomy Tower, from the stars themselves, if he could.

But if he does…he's afraid you might actually hear him. And Sebastian can't have that. He can't let you know the true depth of his feelings. Not yet. It's too soon, too much for something so fragile and new. He knows he can be a little intense, a little overwhelming. When Sebastian loves, it's fierce and unwavering, and as much as he wants to tell you, show you, how deeply he loves you, he's afraid the intensity of his feelings will drive you away.

He supposes that's one of the many reasons he's always been so drawn to more fiery forms of magic. After all, they're just like him. Fervent. Insatiable. Incendiary. Kindred — kindling — spirits. Cast with the best intentions — to protect and keep warm — but one wrong move, too much, and it becomes dangerous, destructive.

Sebastian has spent his whole life being told as much — that he's too much. Overzealous. Unrelenting. Reckless. Doesn't know when to stop. Breaks everything he touches. Loses everyone he loves.

He can't lose you too.

He's a wildfire, and you— you're a forest teeming with birdsong and greenery, and he's terrified that with one wrong move he'll burn you to the ground, when all he wants to do is keep you warm.

So he holds himself back, concentrates all his efforts into taking it slow, swallowing a symphony of lovesick confessions and pouring the softest version of his love into every touch, determined to make this perfect for you, determined to get this just right. Because maybe, if he gets this right, he'll actually be lucky enough to keep you.

"So perfect," he sighs as he moves above you, soft and sweet.

"Tell me what you need, love," he urges between stuttered breaths and slow, languid thrusts. "To make this perfect for you, too."

You can tell he's holding back — each touch a little too gentle, a little too careful, a little too reserved — and you think you know why, because you know him.

Sebastian Sallow has never done anything halfheartedly, so when he loves, it's without reservation — fiercely, deeply, perhaps a little madly.

You also know that he's lost just about everyone he's ever loved.

Though you've never actually spoken the words out loud, you know that he loves you too. It's always been there, unspoken, thrumming beneath the surface of every interaction.

You can hear it in the silence of a lazy afternoon spent cloud-watching under the shade of a flutterby tree in the summoner's courtyard, splayed hands edging across the grass until you feel the accidental brush of his pinky finger against yours.

In little gestures played off as teasing banter, covert hands sliding stacks of toast and chocolate croissants across the shared desk of your first class, wrapped in scribbled notes admonishing you for missing breakfast after yet another sleepless night.

It's in the way you wish each other goodnight, stretching out the moment with hastily stifled bouts of laughter and stolen glances over your shoulders as you watch him make the long trek back from Ravenclaw Tower to Slytherin Dungeon, hesitant to part after yet another nighttime lark, despite the fact that you know you'll see each other the very next day.

In the way he insists on coming along with you on some of your more daring ventures, pushing down his deep-seated fear of spiders and instinctively stepping between you and a thornback ambusher seconds away from incapacitating you with its venom.

You've always known Sebastian loves you, but up until tonight, you've always thought it was in the same way he loves Anne and Ominis. Fond. Familial. Kindred.

That was before you'd felt the weight of his lips against yours, the tremble in his hands as he'd pulled you close, the beat of his heart thundering in time with your own.

Now that you know it runs even deeper — not just friendly or familial love, but romantic love, too — it adds a whole new layer of vulnerability. And if he loves you the way you think he does, the same way you love him, then you know why he's holding back. Because when someone is your whole heart, the prospect of losing them is that much more terrifying.

This is a man who has endured more pain and loss than most people could even dare to imagine. This is a man filled with more fear and guilt than anyone should ever have to bear. Afraid to fuck up again. Afraid to hurt you again. Afraid to lose what little remains of the people he loves. Afraid to let himself have what he wants, because deep down, he still doesn't think he deserves it.

Afraid that he is too brash, too broken, too intense, too much for anyone to ever want, the weight of his grief too heavy for anyone else to carry, spirit too bright and burning for anyone to ever want to get close enough to touch.

And maybe he is. Maybe he is too much. But that's never stopped you wanting all of him just the same. If he is an untamed beast, then your heart is a vivarium, a home built for an occamy at its full potential. For you, he could never be too much, because you could never get enough of him.

He's a wildfire, but you've always been drawn to his warmth, his light, bright sparks lighting up your coldest, darkest nights. You wouldn't just walk through his flames, you'd dance in them, safe in the knowledge that you'll never get burned.

Because he's a wildfire, but you are a hurricane, and you're more than a match for his heat.

So when he asks you, soft and sweet, what you need make this perfect for you, that's exactly what you tell him.

"You. Just you," you sigh as you lean up to press a trail of kisses in between the freckles that dapple the pale column of his throat. "I want all of you, Sebastian. Please, show me how badly you've been wanting me all this time, too. Don't hold anything back. I can take it…anything and everything you're willing to give."

Sebastian's hips still as he pulls back to look at you, lips parted in surprise.

"Are— are you sure?"

You lean up to kiss him, slow and deep, your answer little more than a sigh against his lips.

"I'm yours, Sebastian. I've always been yours," you whisper. "Now all you have to do is take what's yours."

Sebastian gazes at you, stunned for a moment, breath catching in his throat. And then his eyes darken, and that charming smile that's always made you weak in the knees curls across his lips, adoration burning like the heart of a wildfire in his irises as he keeps his steady gaze locked on yours.

He laces his fingers with yours and pins your entwined hands above your head, holding you captive, using them as an anchoring point as he begins driving into you with rough, zealous thrusts that hit deep and steal your breath, his other hand coming up to smooth across your cheek as he pulls you in for a kiss, swallowing his own name as it falls from your lips in a stuttered sigh.

"Like this, love?" Sebastian groans, the hard line of his smirk pressed against your lips. "Is this how you want me fuck you?"

"God, yes. Please, Sebastian—"

"As you wish, darling," he growls, picking up pace even faster, his thrusts coming even rougher. "You've no idea how badly I've wanted to have you just like this."

"Tell me," you urge, voice barely more than a whisper.

A litany of lovesick confessions spill from his lips in between desperate, hungry kisses: how deeply he adores you, how beautiful you look laid out beneath him, how amazing you feel wrapped around him, how you must've been made for each other with how perfectly you fit together, how he's been dreaming of being with you like this for so long and he can't believe he's lucky enough to actually have the real thing.

How he'd love nothing more than to keep you forever, make you his in every possible sense of the word (because he's yours, he's always been yours, every beat of his heart belongs to you and you alone) wants you to feel the ache of him throbbing between your thighs days after he's made love to you, a constant reminder of what you've done together; wants to leave claiming bruises all over each other's necks so that everyone will know you belong to one another.

You tilt your head back, bearing your neck in offering, and Sebastian lets out an appreciative groan, swooping down to leave another mark right below the first, fire dancing in his eyes are he pulls back to admire his work.

"Mine," his voice rumbles through you like thunder as he presses the word into your pulse point.

"Yours," you sigh, leaning up to graze your teeth along the column of his throat, eager to claim him in return.

It's enough to drive him over the edge, burying his face in your neck and breathing in deep, greedy lungfuls like you're a burst of fresh air after a life spent drowning, praising you between hungry kisses. How he could gladly spend the rest of his life right here between your legs. How wild you drive him with the sounds you make, the way you call out his name.

"I've wanted to hear you say my name in every possible way — in laughter, in sighs, in gasps…in screams," he says with a prideful smirk as he gives a rough snap of his hips that hits deep enough to pull his name from your throat in a sharp, breathless gasp.

Sebastian lets out a low, throaty chuckle that sends shock waves straight to your core, heating burning every inch of your skin like a shot of Firewhisky as he tells you how badly he wants to watch you come undone beneath him, feel you wrapped around him as your body clings to him, see himself reflected in your eyes as you call out his name, to know that he's the only one who can make you feel like this, take you apart just to be the one that completes you.

The hand that's spent all this time tangled in your hair, gently pressed against the curve of your cheek, comes down to wrap around your waist, tilting your hips upward and pulling you roughly against him, the new angle giving him access to an even deeper sweet spot inside you, each thrust causing the space where you're connected to grind against that sensitive bundle of nerves, sending waves of pleasure radiating throughout your entire body as he keeps a steady, consistent rhythm, buried to his hips between your thighs, building you to climax until you're crashing over the edge, fingers laced with his as you fall together, fluttering around him, pulling him in even deeper, an endless chorus of I love you, I'm so in love with you, I'm yours falling from his lips as he spills deep inside you, calling out your name like it's a sacred prayer and you're his salvation.

Sebastian collapses against you, panting against your neck and pressing lazy kisses to your cheek before rolling to the side to lay on his back. You're barely able to get out a breath before he's pulling you into him, coaxing your head onto his chest, wrapping his arms around you in a protective hold, burying his face into the top of your hair and breathing you in with deep, contented sighs.

The words he'd said to you as he'd fallen over the edge repeat inside your head like a mantra, pulling your lips into a bright, blissful smile.

"Sebastian?" you ask as you snuggle in closer, heart full.

"Yes, darling?" he asks, still breathless but utterly blissed, voice muffled by your hair.

"I love you too."

You feel his whole body relax, exhaling on a long, slow, contented sigh that almost sounds like a sob toward the end, like he's relieved to hear you say it out loud.

"D'you know," he says into the comfortable silence after a few moments, lips pulled into a bright smile as he glances over at you. "I've seen entire ecosystems co-existing inside a single room tonight — bloody hell, I saw a phoenix — and all of that still couldn't even hope to compare to being with you," he marvels, still a little breathless. "To think, we could've been— I mean, two and a half years. I can't believe it took us this long to finally act on our feelings."

You lift your head, a playful look in your eyes as you gaze up at him dreamily.

"We just took the scenic route," you tell him, smiling as you lace your fingers together and press a kiss against each of his knuckles in turn.

Sebastian's chest rumbles with laughter as he nuzzles in even closer, pressing kisses to the top of your crown. You do the same to his chest, charting constellations of your own design in the sun-kissed freckles you find there, falling into a deep, comfortable sleep before you have the chance to name them all.

[wordsinhaled]

because genderqueer payneland naturally settling into the best ways to care for each other is my beloved trope - here's a little something on their disguises, for @icarian-iscariot and @dont-offend-the-bees !!!

-

Charles is tinkering with the two pairs of glasses they'd just received as payment for their last case. Doing up their disguises for the first time. It's a lovely bit of magic, really, and he can already tell it's going to be dead useful. He might even be rambling about it, just a little, in his excitement, picking through the logistics of how two middle-aged versions of him and Edwin ought to look. He's just starting in on the necktie patterns he vaguely remembers his teachers wearing, when—

"Charles?" Edwin interrupts, and Charles turns toward him, expectant. "Actually, I. Well, I wondered if… I thought perhaps. If there is the choice… of course, only if it is possible, and if it doesn't—if it doesn't suit that is perfectly fine. But I—"

"Edwin, mate. What is it? It's all right. Whatever it is, just spit it out. Better out than in, yeah?"

"Well… I only wondered… must we both be men, as it were? In our disguises?"

And Charles feels taken aback, a little, if he's honest. It's a new thought, if not exactly an unfamiliar one, somehow. But he smooths his face out, keeps the catching up his mind is doing from showing. "I mean, I hadn't really thought about it, mate. Don't think I'd really fancy being anything else."

"I was not referring to you." Edwin's voice is tight and high, bordering on defensive, and suddenly it dawns on Charles that this is—this is something important to Edwin. Maybe more so than he'd picked up on, before. "I have been considering that I might prefer—but it is nothing. I can simply abide—"

"Oh, no. Shhh, no," Charles croons, overtaken with the instinct to step closer, to clear away the clouds from Edwin's expression. "Stop that right there, we're not having you abide anything, mate." And he puts his hands on Edwin's shoulders, where they belong, and rubs a little, digs his fingers into taut muscle that shouldn't be able to carry tightness. Feels the tension seep out slowly, as Edwin relaxes into his grasp.

"All right," Edwin says, as though he's convincing himself, "all right."

"I've just got to fiddle with the charm a bit, but… should be easy enough. S'not like there's rules to the disguises, after all. 'Course you can be a woman, Eds. Nothing stopping you. Don't matter one bit to me."

"Truly?"

Edwin sounds so unsure, and so terribly hopeful, as though he isn't asking Charles for the easiest thing in the world: to take him just as he is and still adore every bit of him. The secret parts becoming not so secret anymore. The mystery of Edwin Payne revealed, piece by piece, the innermost bits of him entrusted into Charles' care. It makes Charles' chest tighten in sympathy. In something like love.

He nods, insistent. "Truly. Actually, it sort of… and don't be put out, now. But it sort of… fits, don't it? Now I think about it. Fits you." Charles gives him an exaggerated, appraising once-over, grinning. "Fits us, even."

And then Edwin is smiling back, a tiny upward quirk of the lips. His eyes gone bright and beautiful, the storm in them dispersed. Privately, Charles thinks he might even be well on his way to coaxing out that crooked flash of teeth he likes on Edwin so much: the one he looks forward to every time because it means Edwin is proper content.

"I daresay it does, Charles."

[katsona-the-katsequel]

Persona Fun Facts Pt. 2

Everyone seemed to like the last entry so here's the sequel. Reminder that all these facts were taken from Atlus' fanbooks and novels (and some even from the Persona Stalker Club).

Another reason Mitsuru worried about Minato was because he had a tight schedule, was pale, and never complained about anything nor mentioned if something was bothering him 🥺

Iwai likes to watch reruns of old Western films (I wonder what's his favorite movie).

Ryuji's mother has the personality of a loud, older sister.

Lisa knows how to snowboard.

The necktie Adachi is wearing is probably Dojima's.

Shiho is "drawn to what she doesn't have".

If he won 700 million yen, Akechi would travel the world.

Tatsuya's handwriting is shit.

In his briefcase, Akechi carries a set of student supplies, food, water, and free samples of sweets and cosmetics people give him.

Yu was the type of person who wanted to be seen as wise beyond his years and more of an adult than he really was. He grew out of it by the end of the game by becoming an actually mature person.

Chihaya redesigns clothes.

The first thing Ulala did after realizing her ex was scamming her was call Maya to a restaurant where they got drinks.

Yusuke would be okay with crossdressing if he felt it would help him discover the secret of beauty.

Junes wages are 690 yen per hour for high school students and 900 yen per hour for the rest.

Jin was the member of Strega in charge of raising funds and taking care of meals.

Maruki is aware of the relationship between food and mental health, so he always tries to eat a balanced diet (with cheap ingredients that won't affect his mental health by being a financial burden).

Yukari's mother, Risako, was financially blessed and came from a good family associated with the Kirijo Group.

The Shiroganes have a butler named Yakushiji who has served them for three generations. He, along with Grandpa Shirogane, was Naoto's main caretaker growing up.

The place where Ken's house used to be is now a parking lot.

Junpei's father failed in business.

Akechi's ideal type of lover is "someone who can give [him] space".

Dojima bought Nanako's clothes at Junes.

Maya always keeps a can of crab in her purse... that's her lunch at work. 😔

Futaba is more specific when it comes to her ideal lover. I'm just going to copy and paste here: "Their specs must be just as follows: must be more of an indoors person more than an outdoors one, won’t barge selfishly into people’s room to clean without the owner’s consent, old fashioned romantic and can sing all the theme songs of Neo Featherman."

Yosuke and Kanji aren't the only ones who dye their hair. Chie also dyes hers.

Kandori sealed his deal with Nyarly by strangling his lover/coworker, Mayo Miyashita, to death. He seemed kind of in a trance while he did so (a lot was from Mayo's POV), so it's up to you to decide how much agency he had in that murder.

Members of Strega don't even know their real names (this won't deter me from the "Chidori is Natsumi's daughter theory"). They also steal household goods and clothes during the night.

Elly has twin sisters.

I can't remember if I included this one in the last post, but here it goes again. After Makoto pointed out how difficult taking care of lobsters would be, Yusuke ate them with tears in his eyes.

[kayewrite]

..maybe that's why

(bsn ending #8)

jeongin x reader! i.n x fem reader!! wordcount: 2.2k

bsn alternative ending wherein jeongin doesnt want to call you 'noona' but you dont know why.

(an: last alternative ending. next to this will be the special chapter where a lot of yoou requested.)an: help! im dying! college is too hard.

an: i love jeongin!

part 1 and part 2 first

“Can you give me that spoon, please?”

Jeongin’s voice pulls you from your thoughts, and a teasing grin spreads across your face as you quickly hide the spoon behind your back. “Okay, if you call me ‘noona,’” you tease, already knowing the answer but still hoping.

He sighs, not even bothering to look up from his phone. “I won’t,” he replies, standing up to head towards the kitchen to grab a new spoon.

You shake your head with a small chuckle and place the spoon back on his plate. Was it really that hard to do?

Jeongin was just one year younger than you—a small gap, really. When you were nine, he was eight. That never felt like much of a difference. But then again, he had that same gap with Seungmin, and Seungmin got the honor of being called "hyung." So why didn’t Jeongin ever call you "noona"? The thought lingered in your mind often, and you teased him about it constantly.

But no matter how much you tried, he always brushed it off, never giving in.

You couldn’t help but wonder why he didn’t treat you like he did the others.

Everyone doted on him, hugged him, and treated him like their adorable little brother. He would roll his eyes and push them away half-heartedly, but it was clear they all adored him. And who wouldn’t? Jeongin was cute. The kind of cute that made you want to squish his cheeks and ruffle his hair.

But he never seemed to mind when you hugged him. Like now, for example.

Your arms wrapped around his waist while he sat on the couch, scrolling through his phone as if you weren't even there. He didn’t push you away, didn’t squirm or protest like he did with the others. He just let you hold him, completely at ease, even as your head rested against his shoulder.

You don't know why, but you are willing to know the answer.

You never had a younger sibling, and the thought of taking care of Jeongin stirred something in you. He was just so easy to dote on—so talented, smart, and capable. Yet, there was this small part of you that still saw him as someone you wanted to spoil.

If he were your little brother, he’d probably be the most spoiled kid in the world.

But no matter how much you treated him like a little brother, there was always that lingering question: why didn’t he call you “noona”?

“Can you tie this for me?”

His voice breaks your thoughts again, and you look up to see Jeongin standing in front of you, holding the ends of his necktie. He’s dressed for his presentation, and you don’t hesitate to set your notebook aside and move to him.

You start tying his tie carefully, focusing on the task as his eyes linger on your hands.

Maybe it’s because he’s taller than you now?

That thought crosses your mind as you glance up at him, only to meet his steady gaze. The teasing thought bubbles up again, and a mischievous grin tugs at your lips.

“You should say, ‘Please, noona,’ if you want me to finish,” you say, your hands pausing mid-tie as you look up at him playfully.

Jeongin sighs, his patience visibly wearing thin. “Just finish it, please. I’ll be late,” he says,

“Not until you call me noona,” you insist, stepping back with your hands on your waist, fully embracing the playful banter. You expect him to groan or roll his eyes, but instead, his gaze sharpens, and the room feels suddenly smaller.

His next move catches you off guard.

Without warning, Jeongin steps forward and pins you against the wall, his hands braced on either side of you. His face is close—too close—and your breath catches in your throat. For a split second, all the teasing falls away, replaced by a tension you can’t quite place.

“I. Won’t,” he says, each word slow and deliberate, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that leaves you speechless.

You blink up at him, your brain trying to catch up to what just happened. But before you can say anything, he pulls back, adjusting his tie on his own with a swift motion. “You can stay as long as you want. Just lock the door when you leave,” he says coolly, grabbing his bag without a glance back and heading out the door.

You stand there, heart racing, still pressed against the wall, wondering what on earth just happened.

Did you push him too far? Was he mad? Or… was it something else?

Days pass, but teasing Jeongin about calling you "noona" doesn’t feel the same anymore. There’s something different now, something unspoken lingering between the two of you. You can’t quite place it, but it makes your chest feel tight, and the teasing doesn’t come as naturally as it used to.

Even now, as the others gather at your friend's hideout.. which was Jeongin’s apartment, you find yourself watching him a little too closely.

“My favorite baby is here!” Chan announces dramatically as he bursts into the room, immediately engulfing Jeongin in a hug. Jeongin struggles against him, whining, “Hyung! I’m not a baby!” but Chan only tightens his grip.

Minho, who’s busy in the kitchen, glances over with a smirk. “He’ll always be our baby,” he teases, and you can’t help but laugh, even though a small part of you feels envious. They always get to smother him in affection.

“He’s my baby,” you chime in proudly, earning a playful glare from Jeongin as he squirms under Chan’s grip.

“I’m not your baby,” Jeongin mutters, his voice slightly muffled as he tries to push Chan away.

“If he doesn’t want to be your baby, I can be,” Minho jokes, causing everyone to laugh.

“Shut up, Minho, you’re old,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes.

or maybe that’s why Jeongin doesn’t call you "noona"—because sometimes, you act like the younger one.

“I want ice cream,” you announce, pouting dramatically.

Jeongin, ever the responsible one, shoots you a disapproving look. “You haven’t even had dinner yet. You should eat something proper before you have ice cream,” he scolds, sounding more like an older brother than anything.

You sigh dramatically. “But I’m not hungry for dinner. I want ice cream,” you insist.

“Are you a baby?” he asks, laughing at your pout. But when you straighten up and fix your posture, you say, with as much dignity as you can muster, “I’m your noona.”

He smirks, clearly amused, and after a moment, he gets up to leave. “I’ll be back,” he says.

A few minutes later, he returns with a gallon of your favorite ice cream, and you light up, but before you can grab it, he holds it just out of reach.

“Eat this first,” he says, handing you a bag of fast food.

You sigh but comply, because, well, he’s Jeongin.

…maybe he doesn't want to call you noona 'cause he hates you?

"Do you hate me?" you asked one time

"Why would I?" he asked back. As far as he can remember he told you he loved you in that restaurant where you treat him.

"'Cause.. I don't know," you don't know how to explain

He ruffles your hair affectionately. “Stop overthinking. I don’t hate you.”

Or maybe he doesn’t wanna call you noona ’cause… he loves you?

That one sentence played over and over in your mind. It was the answer you’d been searching for, though you weren’t ready to admit it at the time.

After the sticky note incident and that night at Changbin’s birthday, things started to make sense. All the little moments clicked into place.

He didn’t want to call you noona because he didn't want to.

A week after Changbin’s party, you found yourself wanting to talk to someone, and Jeongin came to mind. He’d always been the one checking on you, sending you messages even when you didn’t reply. In one of them, he’d said, “If you ever need someone to talk to, just call me.”

But you hadn’t called.

Instead, you went to his apartment. You knew the passcode, as did most of the group. Still, you knocked. When no one answered, you entered, your steps careful, almost hesitant.

The silence was comforting, in a way. You sank into the soft cushions of his couch and waited, hoping the familiar space would calm the chaos in your mind.

It was getting dark when Jeongin finally came home, guitar strapped to his back. He hadn’t expected to find you here, yet there you were—curled up on his couch, looking so peaceful despite the turmoil you had been feeling.

For a moment, he just stood there, his eyes softening as he took you in. All his worries, the small frustrations, the confusion—it all faded away when he saw you like this. His heart ached in ways he couldn’t explain.

Quietly, as if afraid even the sound of his breath might wake you, he moved closer, kneeling beside the couch. His fingers hesitated before gently brushing the strands of hair away from your face, lingering in that tiny gesture, his thumb grazing your cheek.

His smile was bittersweet.

You had no idea how hard it was for him to stay in the role of the younger brother. How much he despised the label, how much he longed to break free from it. You didn’t know how many nights he lay awake, wishing he could grow up faster, become someone you’d look at differently—someone you might want to be with.

When you stirred slightly, he jerked back, standing in an instant. His heart raced as he quickly slipped into his usual facade, moving to sit on the smaller couch across from you. By the time you opened your eyes, he had an upside-down book in his hands, pretending to read.

"Oh, you’re awake?" he asked casually, as if nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just been admiring you moments ago.

You stretched, sitting up, blinking away the last remnants of sleep. "When did you get home?" you asked, your voice still soft from sleep, your lips curling into a smile.

"Not long ago." He shrugged, placing the book down carefully, his voice neutral, though his heart was anything but calm. "You should’ve called me."

"And disturb your class?" You laughed softly, shaking your head. "No way."

He wanted to tell you that it didn’t matter. That no class, no distance, nothing could stop him from coming to you if you needed him. But instead, he just smiled.

"How are you?" he asked, his gaze searching your face, seeing through the mask you always wore.

"I’m fine." The lie rolled off your tongue with practiced ease, but even you could feel how hollow it sounded.

Jeongin’s eyes lingered on you a little too long. He wanted to push, to ask why you were really here, but he didn’t want to scare you away. He knew you wouldn’t open up until you were ready.

Then, out of nowhere, you asked, "Can you call me noona?"

Jeongin blinked, caught off guard. The request was so unexpected, it almost felt like a joke. He scoffed lightly, unsure if you were teasing him or testing him.

You bit your lip, looking down as if you were afraid of his answer. "I just… I want to confirm something."

His heart sank. He didn’t want to call you that. Not now, not ever. He had spent so long trying to distance himself from that word, from the idea that you’d always see him as just your younger friend.

"Just once…" Your voice was softer this time, and it broke something inside him.

He swallowed hard, looking anywhere but at you. "Noona," he said quietly, barely able to force the word out, his voice thick with emotions he tried so hard to hide.

The silence that followed felt heavier than anything he had ever felt before. You didn’t say anything, and it scared him. He finally dared to glance at you, only to see you staring at him, your expression unreadable.

"Now I know the answer to my question," you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

Jeongin’s chest tightened. He didn’t ask what you meant, but every fiber of him was screaming for an explanation.

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes glistening as you finally looked back at him. "Noona doesn’t feel right coming from you."

He froze, the weight of your words sinking in. He knew what you meant—he could feel it in the way your voice trembled, in the way you were struggling to keep your feelings contained.

"I don’t want to be your noona."

It wasn’t just a statement. It was a confession. A quiet, undeniable truth.

You, who had once been so unsure, so careful with your feelings, were now looking at him with a clarity that left no room for doubt. You didn’t want to hide from it anymore.

And neither did he.

--

an; i saw vids of jeongin bowing on stays and it made my heart warm. jeongin was indeed raised right by his hyungs. so precious.

[makuzume]

JJK Mens' Reaction to Fixing Their Necktie (Pre-relationship)

🔅characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami

🔅content: fluff; gn! reader; how do they react when their crush (you) fixes up their tie for them?

🔅a/n: Inspired by the time I learned how to tie a tie during thesis defense season so I can help my classmates fully knowing that they wouldn't know how to do it themselves

[JJK Masterlist]

🔅Gojo Satoru🔅

You were helping the other guys in the lounge fix their necktie right before they leave for a black tie event. Looking over to Gojo, you found him sitting in one of the couches, flipping the tie in all sorts of directions with his expression being both clueless and even mildly annoyed

You were the one to approach and offer to help him. His face lit up and immediately relaxed, relieved that he doesn't need to be the one to deal with this inconvenient little problem himself anymore

He would tease you lightly, saying how you learned how to make a tie so you could have more "marriage material" for your future husband.

Gojo would still be sitting down as you fix the tie for him. You got a chair and placed it in front of him, his long legs needing to spread a little just for you to get close enough to fix the knot for him, having you settle yourself in between his legs.

It was supposed to be just a casual favor for him, but he didn't expect the closeness between the both of you to make his entire body feel really stiff since you were sitting so close to him like this. It didn't help that your knuckles would also sometimes lightly brush over his chest as you adjust the knot, making him pause his breath for a second each time.

You were too focused and didn't notice the reaction his body was making, thank god. He wouldn't want to embarass himself for getting flushed over something so casual like this, especially since it was him who didn't even bother adjusting his current position, making you sit in between him instead

He would definitely be talking to the other guys in the room as you were doing this to distract himself and keep it cool. But just before you finish, he would sneakily a take a quick glance at your face for just a few seconds, giving him a bit of a chance to scan your eyes, your nose, and your lips from such a close distance.

Gojo would stand up right after you leave your seat. "Thanks, not bad for someone as clumsy as you" he said as he playfully (and a bit aggressively) messed up your hair as he walked passed you. You frustratedly nagged him, of course, but he left the scene quicker than you could begin to finish bickering.

Maybe he did that to relieve the tension he felt from having such an intimate moment; or maybe it was to re-establishing with himself the current friendship relationship he had with you. (and perhaps to also prevent you from seeing a pinkish tint that was beginning to form on his cheeks)

🔅Geto Suguru🔅

He would be the one to approach you and ask for your assistance since he already saw you helping out the others voluntarily, so he figured fixing his tie wouldn't have been too much out of the way

He chuckled in a slightly bashful way as he asked for some help, admitting that he never really bothered learning how to make a proper necktie. As he said this, he wasn't embarassed nor too confident.

You gladly help him, of course, but you were too focused making the knot that you didn't even notice the way he was looking at you the entire time.

Geto watched your expression, his eyes never leaving your face. He absolutely loved how focused you looked; As each time your eyebrows furrowed and your eyes squinted from trying your best to neatly loop the tie, his heart couldn't help but melt a little in admiration.

Your smile as you finished looping the last the knot was the best part of it all. The way you felt so proud and cheerful at your own acomplishment was a moment he would definitely engrave into his memory.

Right after you parted ways, Gojo would approach him confused, asking why in the world did Geto ask someone else make his tie for him. After all, it was Geto who fixed Gojo's necktie just a few minutes ago.

Geto would only smile in a slightly mischievous way and say "Oh, you're right. I must've forgotten."

🔅Nanami Kento🔅

This was around the time before he became a sorcerer. He didn't know how to properly do a necktie yet at this point, using only one of those adjustable zipper neckties that didn't need any thinking- just slipping it on, tightening it, then you're good to go

It would have been before a an important presentation or meeting with the higher ups. He forgot his necktie but was able to buy one from a store near by (Though they didn't have the adjustable ones he uses)

You can see him sitting far away with his back facing the rest of the group, seeming to be fixing something. As you approach him, you can see the slight frustration he had on his face a he was wrapping the fabric around himself, trying to make a tie.

Laying in front of him was his phone, playing a YouTube video with the title in bold text saying "How to Tie a Tie in 1 Minute EASY Tutorial Mirrored Step by Step for Beginners by TheAlphaMale764"

You couldn't help but hold back a chuckle seeing him that moment, which startled him and immediately behind him, showing hints of mild embarassment

The tie he did looked... alright. (not really. It wasn't even and the folds weren't nicely tucked)

You simply shook your head with a chuckle, turning off his phone and sitting next to him, gently undoing his tie and fixing it up for him.

He was a bit tensed as you did this, maybe because he didn't know whether to look away, hold his breath, where to keep his hands, and all that stuff. In the end, he ended up looking over to the ground next to him, making sure to not look at the ground facing in your direction and giving the false impression of starring at you anywhere inappropriately

The way you gently run your hands across the back of his neck as you tuck the tie under his collar had the man on a chokehold, his cheeks getting warmer as his throat gulped down whatever nervous feeling had been piling up inside

As you finished, he lightly coughed away his tension and slightly pulled on his tie down to adjust it "Thank you.. I was only used to the ones that were pre-made already. I apologize for troubling you." He said as he did his best to prevent the faint redish color on his cheeks from forming (he failed, it was still vissible)

You merely chuckled at him, thinking his blush was from embarassment "It's no trouble Nanamin, I can teach you how to do it next time so you wouldn't have trouble followikg some alpha's youtube video when I'm not around"

It was a kind gesture, he thought. But a part of him kind of wished that he'd never learn to make one. Them that way, maybe he could have an excuse to let you tie it for him again.

[Back to JJK Masterlist] [Overall Masterlist]

a/n: eyyy slowly fixing my theme >:D

Credits to @makuzume on Tumblr || Do not steal, translate, modify, reupload my works on any platform.

[justastrugglinghotchocolate]

So like a year ago, I made a post asking why Dorian confessed to murdering Basil in the 1891 edition of the book, but not the 1890. For the last few months, while working on tlg and the comic, I’ve on and off again worked on a small animatic for the ending of TPODG. Because of this I’ve had to reread the ending conversation with Henry again and again. And a thought occurred to me:

Is Dorian’s ‘desire to be good’ actually an attempt to stop being objectified?

Dorian’s ‘desire to be good’ is obviously horseshit, even to himself, but why does he do it? "To feel something new" is a lazy explanation especially when the book literally says that “[h]e felt a wild longing for the unstained purity of his boyhood”. He doesn’t want something new, he wants what he had before. But it’s not the innocence of his youth, nor something material he desires—it’s the way people treated him before Henry and Basil.

The thing that always stood out to me was this exchange (occuring after Dorian’s confession): 

“There is someone at White’s who wants immensely to know you—young Lord Poole, Bournemouth’s eldest son. He has already copied your neckties, and has begged me to introduce him to you. He is quite delightful and rather reminds me of you.”

“I hope not,” said Dorian with a sad look in his eyes.”

While many modern adaptations either forget this line or give a charitable reading, to me it reads as though Dorian realizes he’s replaceable. Even though he has a magic portrait and eternal youth, he still is a dying relic of a changing world. He will never be anything more than the innocent, youthful doll society and Henry treated him as.

His confession, to Henry of all people, was a final plea to be seen as more than the dumb youth, as an innocent angel—he is begging Henry to look at him and see that Dorian Gray is a person. That he feels more than youth, or beauty, or idolatry. That he is capable of great violence and even greater crime, like any other man and through that can be capable of evolving with the time like any other. He doesn't want to live as a passing fancy of perverts and naive young people.

But Henry breaks all of that in one simple line:

“You and I are what we are, and will be what we will be.”

But, Lord Henry was never going to see Dorian as a real person. Because Henry himself isn’t real. ‘Lord Henry’ is a role he plays, one that consumed him far before the first chapter. In many ways, his cynical philosophy is his own defective portrait. He hides any semblance of a person in his role of ‘cynical hedonist’ and denies any change. He too is a dying relic of a changing world.

When Henry denies his attempt to change, Dorian seeks Basil’s portrait of him. I think it's quite telling that even after he murder him, Dorian seeks implicit comfort from the man who had idolized his rose-white purity. Basil was the only relationship that was closest to what he had before. But the sad truth is laid bare:

No one ever saw Dorian Gray as a real person. 

He was always a role being played. 

And he dies tragically discarded.

[tatsumessy]

Hidden Feeling - {part 2}

“It’s the big day!” Your little sister says fixing your hair while smiling at you through the mirror. “I know…” the solem tone in your voice raised some red flags in your sisters head. “What’s wrong? It’s your big day!” She repeated and you just rolled your eyes not wanting to make eye contact with her. “It’s not just my big day, it’s mine and Sae’s. I know he was fine with paparazzi being here I just don’t know how I feel about it.” She sighed and turned you around in the chair to look at her.

“Just think of it as it just being you two.” She said rubbing your arms and smiling at you. “But what if she’s there? I don’t think I can do it…I’m too scared.” You said hugging your body then turning back around in the chair. “So you don’t want to marry me now?” Letting out an annoyed groan you didn’t want to turn around because you already knew he had this look of disappointment on his face.

“Give us a minute.” He said to your little sister, you could hear her heels clinking against the floor then exiting the room. “Y/n. Look at me. Baby look at me.” He said standing behind you with his hand on your head. “What’s wrong?” He leaned down and started kissing on your cheek, “I just don’t like the thought of everyone here…I wanted our wedding to be small and private…” “I know how to fix that.” He said standing up and walking towards the door.

“Put your dress on.” He exited the room and closed the door behind himself. After ten minutes he came back into the room with the marriage official, “Sae what is this?” You said standing up and holding onto the bottom of your dress, “we’re getting married right here right now just the way you want it.” There was a small blush on your cheeks as you walked closer to your soon to be husband and grabbed his face. You leaned in and placed a kiss on his lips. “Thank you.”

“Put it on, stop being so difficult.” You said fixing the buttons on your husbands shirt and glancing over his shoulder to make sure that your kids were behaving themselves while you were out in public. Your eldest son is nine, your middle kids are seven and then your youngest is three and then last but not least you’re five months pregnant with your fifth child. “We’ve been doing this for too long, I’m tired.” He said undoing the necktie that you just fixed along with the microphone.

“ITOSHI SAE! Stop it. This is the last interview for the year before our family trip. Please behave, how are your kids doing better than you?” He scoffed and refixed his tie then placed a kiss on your lips before leaving the room and walking onto the stage. Everyone clapped and cheered as he sat down and had this passive aggressive attitude towards the lady. The same interviewer who had a lot to say 11 years ago.

“Before you start this irrelevant conversation I have a question for you myself. Are you still trying to chase after men you know you can’t have? Or are you still being a gold digger?” Everyone in the crowd gasped at his question but then started laughing at her reaction. She was pissed, beyond pissed at that. “I-I only had one question. How’s life been so far since your shotgun secret wedding?”

“I’ve truly enjoyed life with my WIFE and my children. I’m very happy with how everything has been and I’m excited to see how we will grow especially since my WIFE and I are expecting our fifth child in four months.” People started clapping at the news while you sat there in shock, as much as the world knew you only had one child. Now they know you’re on your fifth child. “Five kids?” She asked setting her notecards down and looking up at him, “yes I guess you can say I just LOVE my WIFE.” he emphasized while looking at his watch for the time.

“We are all glad you’ve found the happiness you’ve wanted and more.” She said not making eye contact with Sae then ending the live interview. Sae exited the stage and headed straight towards the dressing room to come and see you. Just in the time span of 15 minutes he missed you, a lot. “Stop running Sae.” You said from behind him as you had just walked out the bathroom with your youngest daughter standing behind you. He turned and gently grabbed your face to kiss you.

“I love you Y/n.” you glanced up at him in confusion. “I love you Sae.” you responded rubbing his cheek as he looked down and hurriedly picked up his daughter who was hiding behind your leg. “And I love you SiSi.” he said kissing her cheek and making her laugh from her shy nature.

Later that night while you and your kids were sleeping on the sofa from watching a movie, Sae had taken a photo of you all and posting it on his instagram.

Caption: My forever goal 💞

dc: @marisely03

[starleska]

[stepping over the picket fence from my backyard into your backyard, like I’ve learnt anything about Despicable Me or Maxime since my last ask besides it is, indeed, the masc “le Mal” and not the feminine “la Mal”]

Hi, hey, howdy, don't worry about getting to this ask quickly or replying or anything, you take care of yourself, do what you need to do, do what you want to do 💕 I'm going on a thought experiment, a couple of thought experiments. <3 

but I was pondering my orb or taking a four hour nap or whatever you wanna call it and like. Is flustered, needy Maxime a new concept???? Not something that’s been greatly considered????? Bc tbh, he always gave me those vibes. For some reason. Like “Oh yeah, of COURSE he’s clingy and embarrassed and blushy and etc etc”. I’m not even sure why I was so sure but it just felt right. 💖 Surely…I wasn’t…projecting any type of …”personal biases” upon himAHEM so sorry, allergies. 

That big coat is for hiding and he totally can just, dissappear in there and hide from the world. He could pull the coat up and his head in and hope he can cover how read his face is. Like don't look at him rn, he's so vulnerable and uncomfortable about it bc he's used to being so big and impervious, but also don't go away, bc he likes you sm and this is so nice and he loves being adored. But also it's so much!!!!!!!!! Vicious cycle.

I'm a Blushy Needy Maxime truther. Or liar. I'll leave it to the people who've actually seen the movie to decide. Just the bigger the ego, the harder they fall, thats what I always say. Don't fact check that. 

What do you reckon flusters him most? Nice words? Physical affection? Teasing? Gifts? All of the above? I feel like it could be anything. 👀 or maybe it’s none of the above. 

Maybe I underestimate him, maybe he's got better composure than I assume, but every set of armor has a weakness! Anyone can get flustered, Maxime can get flustered, and tbh he probably should get flustered. Where there’s a will there’s a way! …Maybe Valentina would help. Either way I KNOW THAT GUY IS GETTING FLUSTERED I know it 

Accidentally a little overboard with the teasing and flustering and he gets all in a huff, giving the cold shoulder. You gotta say you’re sorry and wrap your arms around him, and in an ideal world he’d hold strong to his grudge until he felt you’ve paid your dues, but he can’t help but melt into your embrace. He compromises, turning back to you, burying his still-hot face into you and refusing to look at you instead. His arms tight around you, not letting you go even long after you assume all is well. His ire is still on you, you know! You owe him a lot for all that trouble you put him through! And besides, he still feels lightheaded from all this blood rushing to his face. You must let him stay in your soft, supportive embrace for just a moment longer. You wouldn’t turn him out now, would you? After you did this to him?  For shame. 

(He is Not intending to let you go anytime soon, he is making up all the excuses)

…hm…I may be talking in circles and not saying much of anything. I also feel like I’ve Greatly Exposed myself today. I gotta go disinfect my ear piercings…I gotta wash my neckties….I gotta refill my mint essential oil diffuser to keep away…the….the bugs…ahem…I gotta make a Pokémon team for Normal Reasons. 

I'm also once again coming to you cold, literally standing next to an actual oven for warmth like a Victorian child when my jacket is on a chair literally just one Maxime away. I’ve Got to GO. I CANT KEEP BEING LET OUT OF CONTAINMENT LIKE THIS. Thank you for listening to my TEDTalk/hostage situation. If anyone asks, I was never here. Take care, you’re great <3 

[Runs away, jumping fences like I committed a crime here.]

not you dropping an entire three course meal and dessert into my askbox, á la mode!!!!!!! 🙈💖💖 for someone who claims they don't know anything about Maxime, you certainly have put a lot of thought into this message...😉

you know, at the time you sent this ask I would've said that flustered, needy Maxime is a new concept, but we've had an amazing wave of art for him over the past week and there's so much of him being all cute and blushy 🙈🙈💖💖 i think it's that he is so easily angered and hates being called cute…he's total fluster-bait!!! we NEED to make him blush 🥺 AAAAA ohhh my god the idea of him wrapping his coat around himself and hiding is so soft!!!! no no you are SO onto something because Maxime is so horribly arrogant and confident, he's a bully who loves the spotlight and desperately wants attention…so wouldn't it be interesting to finally hit that sweet spot and get him wanting to hide? i really do think overt affection like that would make him curl up, and if you did it in a pointed enough way, his face would light up like a traffic light 🥰💖 i think that Maxime is probably really unprepared for anyone who is able to match his energy. he's looking down at you all heavy-lidded, boasting about himself and casually belittling you, but you shoot back with a well-aimed flirtation and it just. hits him like a truck. his cheeks warm, he starts to stammer. he desperately tries to recover, but he's actually looking for an out because he needs to find somewhere to breathe and quiet his beating heart 👀💖 YOU ARE CORRECT Valentina would so get involved!!! you've probably seen us talk about Valentina a bit before, and our wishes that she'd had more dialogue/character development in the movie…but two things that are very canon about Valentina is that she loves cute things, and she also thinks MAXIME is really cute 👉👈 i am certain that behind closed doors those two lavish all kinds of attention on each other, and Valentina turns Maxime tomato-red every time!!!! squealing no no no please don't be embarrassed i LOVE this!!!! gahhhh i adore that quick possessive flip from being so embarrassed and curling in on himself to it being something where he desperately wants to keep you, he can't let you go…!!! oh, my heart 😳😳😳 it's going to sound so silly given all of the stuff i've made for Maxime and being a selfshipper but i adore him so much that i STILL get so incredibly squirmy even trying to imagine any degree of one-on-one discussion with him, let alone contact…!!!! it's taken me a week to answer this ask for exactly that reason 🙈💖 so THANK YOU for fueling my brain i am going to chew through my hoodie sleeves now 😳😳😳 cackles. are we both sufficiently dead now? did you manage to do all of those convenient excuse-related things (including making the Pokémon team which i would LOVE to hear about)? 👀 it's OKAY lovely, open yourself up!!! there are no rules when it comes to loving characters - who says we can't adore many at once?! 🥰 thank you for always sending the loveliest, most interesting asks!! i've been mulling over this one for a hot minute and it's really, really cheered me up after a tough month, so big big hugs 🫂💖💖

[100-gar]

Okay these thoughts are destroying my soul from the inside so lemme explain exactly why this page is fucking everything to me.

Stan's endlessly devoted to Xeno. He's proven this time and time again, he'd go to the ends of the earth and personally burn it all down just for this man.

They lost the fight. They were petrified again. It could have very easily been their last moments alive. But he wakes up, and the first thing he sees is Xeno, looking at him with those big, excited eyes, giving him a job. He's unsure what's happened while he was stone, how long Xeno's been awake without him, at the mercy of the KoS. But Xeno looks good. Healthy. Clearly, for however long he's been "captive," Xeno's been safe.

Stan's first move is to grab him. He's so gentle as he wordlessly checks him over for any sign of harm, but there's none. In fact, Xeno's got this earnest brightness Stan hasn't seen on him in thousands of years, back when they were kids. Maybe it's the change of scar, but he seems so much lighter now. They so clearly treated Xeno well, let him do his science and gave him a purpose, let him fulfill his passions. They gave him some of his hope back.

Of course Stan's going to take this mission. It's the least he can do after all they've put these kids through, and they still were so good kind to Xeno. He owes them this much. (Though, if Xeno asked him to, he probably would have gone right back to the war room. Bro's devoted.)

And like, on Xeno's side, the touch makes his expression change completely. He drops his guard just a bit, because oh my science did he miss Stan.

Xeno says nothing. He understands that Stan needs this moment, this confirmation. And he absolutely needs it to, he's missed Stan so much. Holding himself back from reviving Stan has obviously been painful. He's visited Stan's statue often, taken care of him, but he hasn't allowed himself to bring him back. Not yet. Maybe he knew it would be too tempting, and he wanted to ensure he followed these kids' pipe dream to the end before he gave in and went back to the world domination plan. But their dream became reality, and now he gets Stan back, and he just looks so happy oh my god. Gen was right, even though the scientists aren't the type to show it, Xeno and Stan's separation has been eating the dr up inside. Somewhere along the way he gave up on conquering the world and he just wanted to do science and solve this mystery and get his knight back.

And the way he's so devoted to Stan as well, showing it not with mushy flowery words but with how he showers him with gifts, makes sure he has everything he could ever want or need, just as long as he stays by Xeno's side. Xeno knows he's a weight on Stan's shoulders, so he makes up for it wherever he can, but to Stan it's not a burden, it's his life partner.

Bonus panel cuz i thought it was adorable

Look at Xeno's lil necktie! And he hasn't been able to give Stan makeup yet. Stan looks so fond i just!!! They're so good your honor they love each other so much.

[tomorrowusa]

Quit fixating on Putin's nukes FFS.

Donald Trump and his MAGA minions are trying to imply that aid for Ukraine will lead to nuclear war. This is bullshit which is meant to bolster Putin's illegal war of aggression against a peaceful neighbor.

We hear MAGA Russophiles repeat this whenever new aid or new weapons systems are sent to Ukraine. The last time I checked, Putin hasn't nuked San Diego or Memphis. And we have crossed more of Putin's "red lines" than Trump has red neckties.

Even a delusional imperialist like Vladimir Putin understands that the ultimate outcome of any nuclear war would leave him as a shirtless congealed blob of radioactive fat. ⚛

With nuclear option unlikely, Putin struggles to defend his red lines

“There has been an overflow of nuclear threats,” said a Russian official speaking on the condition of anonymity because of the sensitivity of the subject. “There is already immunity to such statements, and they don’t frighten anyone.” A Russian academic with close ties to senior Russian diplomats agreed, calling the nuclear option “the least possible” of scenarios, “because it really would lead to dissatisfaction among Russia’s partners in the Global South and also because clearly, from a military point of view, it is not very effective.”

The United States and its NATO allies have no intention of giving nukes to Ukraine.

What we don't hear from scare-mongering MAGA zombies or Putin-friendly tankies is that the war in Ukraine would end immediately if the Russian invaders simply left Ukraine. Anybody who truly wants peace should be telling Russia to get the fuck back to their own country.

This week, Trump and former independent presidential candidate Robert F. Kennedy Jr. wrote in an op-ed for the Hill that a decision to grant Ukraine permission to use Western long-range missiles “would put the world at greater risk of nuclear conflagration than at any time since the Cuban missile crisis” and called for direct negotiations with Moscow instead.

The only thing to "negotiate" with Moscow is a short ceasefire while Russia withdraws all its invading troops. The bottom line is that Russia has no business in Ukraine. The invasion is in violation of numerous international laws, treaties, and memoranda.

As for technology, Russia's means of using ICBMs in nuclear war just ain't what it used to be.

Latest Russian ICBM Test May Have Failed, Satellite Images Suggest

Russia is a third-rate power which happens to have nukes and a lot of empty territory that looks deceptively impressive on a map. Its ability to handle any atomic technology competently is questionable. Even during the glory days of the Soviet Union it gave the world the its worst nuclear disaster at Chernobyl in 1986.

Chernobyl is in northern Ukraine which became independent since 1991. Ukrainians had done a good job of cleaning up much of the radioactive mess left by Moscow.

But Russia then temporarily occupied the area around Chernobyl in the early part of the invasion. Russian occupiers there did incredibly stupid things like dig military trenches in radioactive soil and loot radioactive materials to take home as souvenirs.

Russia has few serious competitors for the Darwin Awards this year. 🎖  ⚛️

What we should worry more about is another nuclear accident inside Russia caused by recklessness or incompetence. The sooner Ukraine is victorious, the more likely Russia will be able to tend to its own problems at home.

^^^ красные линии = red lines

[fairy-writes]

TREES OF GREEN, RED ROSES TOO

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing(s): Nanami Kento x Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Grim Reaper!Nanami, Gender Neutral!Reader, Reader is terminally ill

Notes: This is for the Spooky House Collab done by Willow’s House/@willowser! Go check out the other pieces!

The title is lyrics from “What a Wonderful World” by Louis Armstrong.

TW for death, illnesses, coughing up blood, and hospitals

__________________________________________________________________________

You didn’t expect Death to wear a suit.

All the tales you had heard swathed the Grim Reaper in robes of pitch and tar. Like a night sky without the moon or stars.

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was borderline driving you up the wall. All day, every day, it was all you heard as you wasted away in your hospital bed.

You hunched over and coughed into a tissue that you managed to grab before your body convulsed. When you pulled it away from your mouth, it was tinged red with blood.

So when your hospital door opens, you expect a nurse to come to your aid.

Not the actual personification of Death.

You know it’s him the second you see him. Something in the back of your mind knows. Some primordial part of your brain recognizes just what you are face to face with. 

He’s tall and blond, with hair styled neatly and his eyes hidden behind glasses. He’s dressed in a neatly pressed black suit, an almost leopard print dotted tie around his neck, and a very expensive-looking watch around his left wrist. The necktie seems an odd combination, but with the literal Grim Reaper in front of you, you didn’t give yourself much time to think about it. 

But… surprisingly… you don’t find yourself scared at all.

“Are you here to kill me?” You ask once your coughing has subsided. The man cocks his head slightly, watching you with eyes almost like a bird. 

Unblinking. 

Unmoving. 

And then…

“No. Not kill you. Help you pass on, maybe, but I don’t kill anyone.” His voice is smooth and deep, rich like the notes of an orchestra. You shudder at the sound and stifle another cough. 

“What if I don’t want to pass on?” You ask, and he raises an eyebrow. Immediately, you feel like a child being scolded by a parent.

However, instead of scolding you, he simply sighs, adjusts his cufflinks, and takes a seat next to your hospital bed.

“It’s your time.” Is all he says, and all you feel is anger. You clench your fists until the skin is taut across the knuckles. 

Who is he to decide that? 

Who gets to decide when and who dies? 

Death or not, you should get to decide when you go. Not some man you’ve just met. 

“You have a valid train of thought. But everyone gets to pass on some time.” The man says, and you realize you have just said everything out loud. You duck your head in embarrassment and stare at your hands twisted in the cotton blanket that is draped haphazardly over your legs. It’s silent for a beat. Then two. 

“I don’t want to die.” Your voice cracks, and your eyes burn as you realize that you genuinely don’t. For months, you had waxed poetic about wanting to finally pass on. To finally be free of this pain. To be free of this life you have lived, in and out of hospitals for years on end. 

But when faced with the one person who can grant you that… you find yourself… afraid and clinging to life.

The man’s eyes soften until he simply looks sad. 

“There are few people who do. But your time has come.” He says gently, and you hold back a choked sound that threatens to break the confines of your chest. You lurch awkwardly away from him as if that would keep you from dying. He half-stands when you nearly fall out of your hospital bed but returns to his seat when you right yourself. 

You refuse to say anything, refuse to take his hand, refuse to do anything that has to do with the man next to you. And he doesn’t say anything in return. He simply sits and watches.

Until…

“Can I do something before I die?” You whisper, and he checks his watch, adjusts his tie, and nods. 

“What is it?” He asks, and you reach for your diary on your bedside table beside your hospital bed. He hands it to you, and you take it, fingers brushing his.

His hands are… warm.

Not cold as death as you had so often heard in stories.

But you shake your head and open the book, flipping through pages of poetry and ideas, and finally come to a stop on a page simply titled “Bucket List” and hand it to the Grim Reaper. 

“I want to do everything on that list before I die.” You say firmly, and he scans the pages, arching an eyebrow when reading over the list.

“This isn’t very long.” He comments, and you shrug, relaxing against your pillows now that imminent death isn’t looming on the horizon. 

You had stalled for time. 

More time to remain alive.

More time to come up with a way to get out of this. 

“I tend to be picky.” That is all you say, and he nods once.

“Very well then. Let us begin.” He says and extends a hand. You frown and hesitate to take it.

“You aren’t going to just kill me, are you?” You inquire, and he huffs,

“Of course not.” 

Something in you says to trust him.

So… you do.

Entry #1: Go to a haunted house

The crowd to the haunted house is bustling, almost overwhelming to your ears with the sheer amount of noise. Your nose is assaulted by the smells of popcorn, cotton candy, sweaty bodies, and spilled drinks. 

The wheelchair creeks, but you almost can’t hear it. It was one of the crummy ones the hospital provided when you were discharged. You weren’t sure why you were released early, but you had a feeling it had to do with Death. He had approached the nurse checking your vitals, touched her shoulder, and whispered in her ear. Her eyes had glazed over, and she had nodded numbly before leaving.

You had been checked out within the hour. 

Some kid bumps into your wheelchair, and you flinch. Perhaps this was more overwhelming than you anticipated. 

Death seemingly notices and leans down,

“We can leave.” He suggests by whispering in your ear, and you can tell he isn’t judging. He’s simply stating a fact because he noticed you were panicking. But you shake your head and swallow your overwhelming panic,

“No… I’ll be fine.” You say, and it’s finally your turn. 

The atmosphere is spooky but not scary. You didn’t even flinch when the first scare actor dressed as a wolf-man jumped out at you with an ungodly shriek. Perhaps it’s because you have the literal Grim Reaper pushing your wheelchair. Maybe it’s because you know you’re dying, so a haunted house feels… trivial. Either way, you don’t feel scared.

Another scare actor. This one dressed as a zombie. Another scream. But you simply smile, say, “Good job!” and move on. Death doesn’t so much as flinch with each wail. He doesn’t even say anything. He simply keeps pushing you through the haunted house at the same steady pace.

You two finish the haunted house easily. As Death begins to push you back down the sidewalk toward the hospital, he speaks.

“What did you think?” He asks, and you shrug, leaning your head back to look at him. His eyes are carefully trained on the scenery ahead. You look ahead but see nothing but a few people meandering about.

“It was alright. Not at all like the movies.” You say and hear him huff out a noise of amusement. 

Looking back up at him, you look in time to see a quirk on his lips. 

“Things rarely are.” He says wisely, and you can’t help but smile a little. 

Entry #2: Make candy apples

You stare dumbfounded at the sight before you. 

There’s Death at the sink, making his way through washing a bag of apples. His suitcoat is hung over the back of a chair, and his black button-down sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. His watch had been taken off and carefully set aside so as not to get water on the expensive article of clothing.

“Why are we in the kitchens? Why are they empty anyway?” You ask as you slowly roll your wheelchair closer to the man. Your arms shake as they strain to push you closer. You had another round of treatments today—another bout of attempting to extend your life for as long as possible.

“Your list says you wanted to make candy apples. I managed to get the supplies.” That's all he says, and you blink. 

“You actually read my list? You didn’t skim it?” You ask, surprised. He looks at you with a slight frown. 

“Of course I read it. Why wouldn’t I?” He asks in return, and you look down at your hospital-issued sweats.

“No one ever does.” You whisper and hear the water turn off. 

Death doesn’t ridicule you. Doesn’t laugh. He simply walks behind you and takes ahold of your wheelchair handlebars. Then, he pushes you to a small kitchen table that has been set up and lets you get comfortable. He returns to the counter, brings you the bowl of washed apples, and instructs you to start twisting the stems off while he boils the corn syrup, sugar, and water. 

“What color do you want the candy apples?” He asks, and you pause in your endeavors. 

“Surprise me.” You say, and he simply makes a noise to show he has heard you. 

Stabbing the apples with sticks and dipping them takes little over twenty minutes, and soon, you have a bushel of drying, dipped candy apples on a tray of parchment paper. The green fruit is coated in a deep red hard candy, and your mouth salivates at the thought of biting into your sweet treat. 

“Thank you, Mr. Reaper.” You say as you poke at one of the apples with a spare skewer. Death looks up from where he is fastening his watch back around his wrist. 

“For what?” You look at the man,

“For allowing me to do this. I’m sure you’re busy. But—”

“Helping souls pass on is part of my job.” He cuts you off gently, and you nod numbly, looking down at your lap. 

He stands, gently working one of the dried apples from the parchment paper and handing it to you.

“You can also call me by my name, you know.” He says abruptly, and you pause from where you are about to take a bite. 

“What?”

“My name isn’t Mr. Reaper. Just call me Nanami.” He says, and you squint, a bit skeptical about the entire exchange.  

Ultimately, however, you decide to smile and extend a hand, offering your own name, though you are sure he already knows it. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Nanami.”

Entry #3: Do a corn maze

Nanami gets you checked out of the hospital at dusk. He wheels you out to a nondescript black car with tinted windows. You slide into the passenger seat with some difficulty as he folds the wheelchair and puts it in the trunk. 

The ride to wherever you are going is filled with aimless chatter. Nanami seems to have relaxed some after introducing himself properly, so he makes it a point to ask you questions. 

“Don’t you already know this stuff?” You ask incredulously, and he nods once, keeping his eyes on the road as he switches lanes. 

“I do. But I prefer to hear it from you.” He says simply, and you feel your ears warm. 

The Halloween festival isn’t crowded like the haunted house was, but it isn’t completely empty. You spy a few families, some pushing strollers and others carrying children. Nanami parks the car and gets out; you get out as well, wrapping your coat around your thin shoulders and tugging mittens onto your fingers. It’s already cold out. You can see your breath. 

The Reaper unfolds your wheelchair, and you take a seat. The two of you make your way over the gravel parking lot toward the entrance, where Nanami pays for two tickets with what looks like a blank card. Your hand is stamped, and you are ushered inside. 

All you can smell is carnival food and corn. And it smells utterly delicious. Nanami must be able to read your mind or something with his freaky powers because he stops and purchases a caramel apple for you to snack on. 

Soon enough, you are at the entrance of the maze. The dirt path is worn, and you are jostled back and forth as you are pushed forward. 

“They really ought to level this out. Someone is going to trip and fall.” You complain in between deciding where to turn. Nanami makes the wise choice not to say anything.

Once good and lost, you then make the decision on getting out of the maze. However, there’s a problem. 

“Nanami, I can’t see. And I don’t have a flashlight.” You say once you realize it’s indeed too dark for you to make out anything but the bare minimum of the corn stalks. 

“I can see just fine.” He replies, and you huff,

“But that takes the fun out of it for me. Isn’t that the whole reason we’re here?” You try, and he pauses, clearly having not thought of that. 

So he touches your temple with one warm hand, and suddenly, you can see everything. 

It’s like the sky is as clear as day! 

It’s like you can see the very turn of the universe as you stare up at the brilliant sky speckled with stars. 

It’s magnificent. 

You are gobsmacked the entire way, not even noticing that Nanami easily navigates the corn maze. It isn’t long before you make it back to the car, and it’s only then that you realize that you are back to seeing the pitch-black sky. 

“How’d you do that?!” You demand excitedly as he starts the car. 

“I can temporarily share some of  my powers.” He replies, and you nearly bounce in your seat with your sudden bout of energy. 

“That was brilliant! Can you do it again?!” At that, he shakes his head, 

“Not tonight. Maybe some other time.” He says and leaves it at that. 

You don’t have the heart to remind him that your time is coming to a close. 

Entry #4: See the cherry blossoms

Fog rolls over the grounds as you are wheeled through the park. It’s late into the night by the time you are quite literally teleported to your destination. The Grim Reaper holds tight to the handles of your wheelchair and begins to walk. You have a blanket thrown over your lap, a hat over your bald head, and mittens over your hands as the wind stirs up the leaves.

It’s not that cold. Really, it’s only a bit chilly. But with your emaciated body from all the treatments, you shiver nonetheless. 

“Would you like to go back? You’re trembling.” Nanami points out, and you shake your head vehemently. 

“Absolutely not. This isn’t like the haunted house. Plus, I want to see the blossoms.” You say firmly, tugging on your mittens, and he makes a noise but doesn’t stop pushing you at a slow, leisurely pace.

The park is beautiful. 

The paleness of the cherry blossoms is washed out in white, making the flowers seem silver in the full moon’s light. And with no one around, you have the entire park to yourself. 

Well… except for the man pushing you. 

You tilt your head back to watch the twinkling stars peeking through the cherry blossom trees. The branches sway in the light breeze, and petals flutter onto the sidewalk. You hold your hands out and catch a few in your palms. Bringing them close, you inhale deeply, smelling the faint scent of the flowers. 

It’s peaceful.

At least… until frost begins to cover everything, and you go from chilly to downright freezing. 

And see a tall, cloaked figure standing at the end of the sidewalk, massive scythe in hand and a blackened hole where their face should be. 

Now this was what you imagined when meeting the personification of Death. 

“Nanami…? Who is that?” You whisper, pointing, but it seems Nanami has already noticed the figure. You can hear his bones creak as he tightens his grip on the wheelchair bars. 

Worryingly, he doesn’t say anything. He simply comes to a stop and waits. 

And the figure begins to walk. In long strides that eat up the distance between you until they stand before you, carrying that massive weapon as if it were a mere twig. 

“Who’s this Nanamin?” The voice is powerful and childish, but that of a man at the same time. When no one answers, the figure reaches up with a skeletal hand. It’s almost as pale as the moon, and he flicks his hood back.

The man has alabaster hair that defies gravity, and his eyes are hidden from you under a blindfold. You can see the sunken sockets where his eyes would be if he weren’t wearing the cloth over his eyes. He stares at you seemingly through the eye covering with a cheeky grin on his face. You don’t have to look at Nanami to know he’s scowling. 

“What do you want.” It isn’t a question but a demand. The cloaked man lets out a petulant whine and leans heavily on the staff of his scythe. 

“Rude!” He scoffs, and you can practically hear Nanami roll his eyes. He goes to turn you around and leave when the base of the scythe digs into the cement between the wheels of the wheelchair. 

“Now, now, no need to run! I’m just being a dear friend and checking in on our dearest Nanamin! You’ve been gone ages! And for what? Hanging out with some humie—” 

“Humie? Who even are you?” You blurt and flinch when he turns that look onto you. However, instead of getting upset at you interrupting him, the cloaked man gives you that cheesy grin again and bows, 

“Gojo Satoru, Grim Reaper, at your service!”

“What do you want, Gojo.” Yet again, Nanami wasn’t asking questions. He was demanding information. Gojo straightened from his dramatic bow, once again leaning on his scythe. 

“Like I said, I was checking on you. You’ve been gone forever!” He exclaims. 

“I’m taking care of a soul. Can’t you see that?” Nanami says succinctly, and you pull your blanket on your lap closer around yourself. 

Gojo lets out an almost annoyed noise.

“Yeah, but you never do that. It’s always business with you.” He complains, and you hear Nanami sigh. 

“What I do is none of your concern.” He says, and readjusts the wheelchair so he can start to wheel you away. Your mittened hands are twisted in the blanket that is now around your shoulders to keep you from shivering too much. 

Maybe you should have stayed at the hospital.

Entry #5: Carve a pumpkin

“What is he doing here?” You ask as Gojo seemingly melts from the shadows of the corner of your hospital room. Nanami looks up from where he’s setting up your “activity,” and his face sours. 

“What are you doing here?” He directs the question at his fellow Grim Reaper, and the taller man removes his pitch-black robe with a dramatic flick of his wrist, leaving him in a black zip-up and trousers. 

He hangs the cloak on the coat rack in the corner of the room. 

“Checking in on you and your favorite human, of course! And I brought a friend!” He steps aside, and a shorter figure steps out of the shadows. They’re dressed identically to Gojo, red hood up and obscuring their features until they draw it down.

“You’re just a kid!” You sputter, surprised at the sight before you. 

Because you’re right. 

He’s just a child. 

With messy pink hair on account of his hood and a boyish quirk on his lips, he can’t be any older than seventeen. 

Was he another Reaper?

He had to be.

The boy’s grin quickly faded, and he frowned. 

“I’m not a kid!” He argues and flinches in surprise as Gojo sets a hand on his shoulder,

“You are the youngest one in the room, Yuji.” He points out, and “Yuji” deflates. 

Nanami gathers your attention with a sigh, and you look over and can’t help but smile. 

Pumpkins.

A smattering of orange, warty pumpkins are set up on a cloth-covered table, a variety of carving tools laid out neatly next to them. You excitedly squirm to the side of your hospital bed and accept Nanami’s hand to help you stand. Your knees are weak from all the time spent in bed and the medications wreaking havoc on your body. So you shake as you take a seat at the table. 

All other furniture has been pushed into one corner, giving ample room for holiday festivities. But you don’t move, not at first. 

“Would you three like to carve a pumpkin with me?” You ask suddenly, and the three reapers freeze. But Yuji grins and takes an enthusiastic seat.

“I’ve never carved a pumpkin before! Is it like in the movies?” He asks, and you shrug,

“I don’t know. I’ve never done one myself. Hospital visits tend to take precedence.” You say, embarrassed at the thought of you, a grown adult, never having carved a pumpkin before. 

Nanami and Gojo pause before taking their seats in the creaky folding chairs around the table. One sits more excitedly than the other. Yuji and Gojo dive right in, chattering like schoolchildren. You take a moment to gather your thoughts before picking up a tool and getting to work. 

You are halfway through cutting the top off your gourd when you realize that Nanami hasn’t moved. 

“Are you not going to do one?” You ask, and he looks at you from behind those glasses of his. 

“I’m content just to watch.” He says, and you feel a pang of disappointment. 

So you push a pumpkin in his direction gently and offer what you hope is a hopeful smile. 

“It’s just a pumpkin, Nanami. It won’t bite.” You say, and he rolls his eyes. You can’t help but giggle, but he takes the gourd and slowly begins to cut open the top. 

Entry #6: Visit Malaysia

Your arrival in Malaysia was surprisingly quiet. 

Of course, it was. It was the middle of the night. Everyone was long in bed save for a few teenagers drinking on the beach when you are pushed from the shadows. They don’t pay you any mind as your wheelchair is parked, and you stand on your own for the first time in what feels like forever. 

Nanami is at your side immediately, offering you his arm for you to grab. You take hold of it gratefully as your knees begin to shake with the energy it takes to simply stand upright. You kick off your shoes and socks and walk through the sand.

The water is a bit cold, but nothing too bad. You are staring out at the horizon, where the moon is just peeking over the water, when Nanami finally speaks. 

“Look.” He gestures downward, and you gasp. 

The water is glowing blue.

A brilliant blueish-white color laps over your toes, and you tighten your grip on Nanami’s arm. He pats your hand once, then twice. 

“What is this?” You whisper in awe, bending down shakily to trickle your fingers through the water. 

“It’s called the Blue Tears. It’s caused by bioluminescent creatures in the water called dinoflagellates.” Nanami explains, and you look up at the man from where you are slowly soaking the bottoms of your trousers by crouching on the shoreline. 

It’s hours before you are tired of watching the glowing water. Thankfully, you had thought to bring a towel and sit on it next to the Grim Reaper as you watch the sun rise over the water. 

“You know I wanted to move to Malaysia when I was human,” Nanami says abruptly, and you look over at him. He’s bathed in the growing sunlight, hair turned gold in the bright reds and oranges of the sun’s rays. 

“Why didn’t you?” You ask, and he just looks sad. 

“I died before I could.” He replies, and you feel a pang of emotion. 

And then comes a realization.

“I’m ready, Nanami.” You say suddenly and realize it’s true. You had done everything on your list. Your fear has left you. And surprisingly, you feel at peace. You see Nanami turn his head to look at you out of the corner of your eye. 

“What do you mean?” He asks, and you smile a sad sort of smile. 

“I’m ready to pass on.” You whisper and see his eyes widen behind his glasses. 

“Are you sure?” He replies, and you nod once. 

He looks at his hands, clenches them into fists, and seemingly steels himself.

Then, he extends a hand. And you take it. Looking down at your joined hands, you realize you are quite literally glowing. Golden specks of dust slowly eat away at your physical body. But you don’t feel pain. You just feel warm. 

“Thank you, Nanami.” You say, voice cracking and tears falling. 

“Kento. My name is Kento.” He says gently, and you nod once, smiling a brilliant smile as you disappear, your final words but a whisper on the wind.

“Thank you, Kento.”

[mitzvahmelting]

assuming that will's glasses aren't for correcting his eyesight, where do you think he got them from and when did he start wearing them?

Assuming that the glasses aren't for correcting his vision, then we have to consider why he's wearing them. One reason that's generally accepted in fandom is that he wears them like a shield between himself and others, to give himself some distance from their gazes. That's a vaild reason, but I would argue that it doesn't explain why he started wearing the glasses. Because it would be pretty strange to make the leap directly from "i'm uncomfortable looking into people's eyes" to "i should wear glasses!" Maybe he started wearing sunglasses to help with avoiding people's gazes and then, though the sunglasses weren't appropriate for a professional environment, he found that clear glasses served the same purpose?

But honestly, a more natural origin for the glasses would be that he was trying to lean into tropes about glasses-wearing people. In particular, he was aiming to look 1. more intelligent, and 2. less proximate to violence. (This is particularly relevant to him as a cis man. I don't think people would make the same unconscious judgement about a cis woman in the same situation. There's something about putting a man in glasses, and the stereotypes associated with glasses, that would subconsciously distance Will from the concept of violence in the minds of the people around him. It makes him seem less dangerous.) If changing the way people perceive him was the original purpose of the glasses, then the question becomes: when in the timeline did he start using them? Two major options come to mind.

One: he started wearing glasses when he went back to school. So after he got fired from the police force in New Orleans, he went back to school to study criminology, presumably getting a Master's degree in forensic entomology (which, after a quick google search, is a real thing that you can actually get a master's degree in! neat!) Either that, or he started wearing the glasses after he was out of school and had already been rejected from the FBI as a field agent. Like, once he knew that he would be teaching at Quantico, maybe he started wearing glasses (and neckties) to make him seem older and more specifically bookish, so that people wouldn't confuse him for a trainee. Two, and the option which appeals the most to me, is the possibility that he's been wearing non-prescription glasses on-and-off since grade school. Because picture this: you're Beau Graham (for the purposes of this tumblr post we will be going with the name Beau for Will's father.) It's the 80s. You're a single father and you're working crazy hours in the boatyard and you're barely putting food on the table. You travel seasonally to various lakes in the eastern US for work, and your poor kid is shuffled from public school to public school, all underpaid guidance counselors and administrative staff working to get Will situated in his new class in the middle of the school year. Meanwhile, Will isn't a perfect student. And with the amount of instability he's experiencing at home, it's no surprise that he's got some behavior issues. But you're Beau Graham, and you know how smart your son is, and you know that this brilliant, sensitive, unusual kid (who you already suspect is probably going to turn out gay, neurodivergent, feminine, or some combination of the three) will be torn apart by the world if a subpar school transcript keeps him out of college and stuck in the boatyards.

If these teachers look at Will, and they only see his secondhand clothes, his attention issues, his behavioral issues, his attitude issues.... they're gonna write him off. They're not going to be willing to put in the work to help him, and they're going to bring their preconceived notions about him when they grade his schoolwork. So Beau Graham puts his son in glasses. And that alone would make the comments on the report cards change: "Will still struggles with paying attention in class and showing respect to adults, but I can tell he's a bright kid and, when he's engaged in learning, he's a pleasure to have in class." or shit like that. Anything, anything to give him a boost. Those teachers would see that Will was a brilliant kid if they only gave him a chance, Beau thought, so he used the glasses to make sure they actually gave him that chance.

[theamityelf]

A sort of random question but do you think the Kamukuras would get varied clothes? Or just the same regular ol’ black suits for each of them

I was absolutely thinking about this, too, so we are on the same page! 😁

I think when they first emerge from the labs, Izuru and Byakuya are in black suits (Hajime's reserve course uniform and Byakuya's expensive clothes) and Makoto is in a hospital gown. Nagito was given his original main course uniform once he no longer needed the hospital gown, but he's modified it over the course of his time in the labs because he was bored, so now it no longer really looks like the main course uniform. And Mahiru might still be in the hospital gown, timing-wise, since she's the most recent, but instead I'll say that her outfit is more like pajamas; not the disposable hospital gown she'd be wearing if she were still regularly being operated on, but not the cohesive outfit she'd be wearing if she were considered "complete" as an experiment. She was still being reviewed and approved when they broke out; she was in the final stages of being considered "finished", whereas Izuru, Nagito, and Byakuya were done and Makoto was going to be taken in for more work.

After they leave, they all have different ideas of what they're supposed to be doing. Byakuya still just thinks his job is to be the Togami heir, Makoto wants to learn about Makoto Naegi and his friends (At least, that's the surface level; the underlying thing is that he needs to become his own person and develop wants and feelings of his own.), Nagito wants to just continually be doing stuff, Izuru just vaguely wants to keep a handle on all his successors and be in control so nothing bad happens to any of them, and Mahiru is almost on a superhero arc where she wants to right the world's wrongs in ways only a Kamukura can.

Byakuya sticks with the suit because it's his, he's Byakuya Togami, etc. To be more specific, he can still make use of his entire wardrobe. Like, he could just straight up go home, sleep in his own bed, and all that. This genuinely could just become the wacky story of all the Kamukuras living in one of Byakuya's mansions. Byakuya also cuts his hair. It won't be the same style he had before; it's slightly longer, since he has a more precise sense of what look favors his face the best. But basically, he still sees himself as the Togami heir and puts effort into his appearance.

Izuru sticks with his suit and his long, unkempt hair because he can't be bothered to change it. He doesn't find clothes terribly interesting, but he does care about what he, Nagito, and Makoto are wearing, collectively. By which I mean, he would care if Nagito and Makoto were dressed similarly and he wasn't, so I'm thinking when he is finding Makoto something else to wear besides the hospital gown, he would specifically opt not to get him a main course uniform for that reason. He also doesn't want Makoto wearing what he used to before the project. I'm thinking he would find Makoto something fairly neutral to wear, and it would coincidentally look a lot like Hajime's casual outfit (like, collared shirt and necktie). As Makoto gradually gains his own identity, he starts to choose not to wear the necktie, maybe one of his old friends gives him a hoodie, etc. (It might even be Junko, as an attempt to provoke Izuru's possessiveness while also doing a nice thing for Makoto.)

Nagito I think would be the most into clothes. He's the one who would get excited by new clothes, by trying out a new style, etc. He would regularly acquire new clothes just to combine them in fun ways. He likes to style Makoto's hair and dress him in new accessories. I'm just picturing him walking Makoto into some sitting room at Byakuya's house to show the others the new outfit he put together for him, and they all just have an extended conversation about it. Byakuya thinks the outfit is ugly, Izuru just shrugs that it's fine, and Mahiru flatly asks Makoto if he likes it. Makoto just says, "My hair feels crunchy."

Nagito might give Makoto or himself a new hair color on a whim.

Mahiru I think would be the one to wear normal clothes. Not her outfit from before, but still a regular casual outfit. Like, t-shirt and shorts, t-shirt and skirt, t-shirt and jeans. That type of thing. Something that won't draw a lot of notice or get in her way. She would cut her hair, but she'd deliberately avoid emulating the bob she used to have, since she thinks it would be disrespectful to the person who lived in this body before. She leaves it at just past shoulder-length. Maybe she gives herself bangs. Her objective is to be someone who can blend into a crowd, kill a killer, and then blend into a crowd again.

[stargazer-sims]

Just cute couple things I picture my OCs doing (that could be turned into to cute fluff scenes):

Yuri and Victor reading to each other

Victor feeding Yuri pieces of fruit with his own chopsticks, even though he's not really supposed to (and also despite it being poor etiquette), and both of them loving it and also feeling slightly rebellious

Yuri washing Victor’s hair, even though he's fully capable of doing it himself, simply because Victor likes having his head/hair touched

Yuri teaching Victor how to tie a necktie instead of just doing it for him (and the whole thing somehow evolves into playful nonsense)

Victor putting Yuri's robe in the dryer to warm it up for him before he gets out of bed, and then bringing it to him when he goes to wake him up

Eden recording voice messages for Haru instead of leaving him handwritten notes, so Haru doesn't have to struggle to read them

Haru waking up earlier than he prefers, just so he can make Eden’s favourite breakfast before Eden heads to the rink for practice.

Eden and Haru listening to music with one set of earbuds, each with one earbud in their ear.

Milena brushing Stan’s hair and secretly being happy that he doesn’t like to cut it because she also prefers it longer

Mishka being unable to resist any opportunity he gets to trace around the heart shape of Nikolai’s birthmark with his fingertip, and Nikolai having a love-hate relationship with that because he loves Mishka’s reason for doing it, but his skin is sensitive there and he dislikes being tickled

Nikolai wearing Mishka's clothes, and Mishka finding it totally adorable, but also being secretly amused because all his stuff is way too big for Nikolai and it looks like a kid has stolen his parent's things.

Nikolai and Mishka having an inside joke relating to peppermints, and not being able to keep a straight face when they're together and somebody mentions peppermint candy (yes there actually is a story behind this)

Forest doing Caroline’s makeup because it’s more difficult for her to do it herself, and then she gets compliments on it all day.

Forest and Caroline trying to feed each other cake like characters in a film, and being super uncoordinated and messy with it

Fox being more worried about Takahiro than about himself when Takahiro gives him his insulin shot because despite Taka's insistence that it doesn't bother him to stick a needle into Fox's thigh or belly, it really does

Fox and Taka dancing in their kitchen like no one is watching, except their kids are definitely watching and laughing about how terrible they are, but Taka and Fox do not care in the slightest because they're both convinced the other one is the best dancer in the world.

Julian composing random, silly love songs on the piano for Grace

Grace making a point to tell Julian every day how smart, handsome and talented he is, because she knows that even after all this time, he still struggles with his self-confidence sometimes

Kenji and Rei playing piano and violin duets in their music room

Rei convincing Kenji to go on a picnic with her even though he doesn't want to sit on the ground or eat food outside, but he ends up having a much better time than he anticipated and is ultimately glad he agreed to it

Peace taking Beth-Anne shopping and Beth-Anne grumbling about it because she doesn't care about fashion and thinks its a waste of time, until she sees herself in the outfits Peace chooses for her and is caught by surprise when she sees how good she looks (but she still prefers athletic wear)

Beth-Anne trying to teach Peace how to skate (for context, Peace's country of origin is Nigeria)

Peace trying to take care of Beth-Anne when she's sick, and Beth-Anne being an absolute grump about it because she insists she doesn't like anyone making a fuss over her, but Peace persists because she's sure Beth-Anne is just being her typical stubborn self (and she's right)

Félix and Davian going on pizza dates, in which they get pizza and eat it in the car because it reminds them of the night they met

Félix and Davian perfecting the art of sleeping in the same hammock

I could go on for ages... but I'll stop here (for now)

[goodomensafterdark]

Writer's Guild Presents: His Partner's Mark (ch2)

Written by Niknak90 on Reddit for the GOAD subreddit!

In which Crowley gets fucked while wearing the turtleneck like he deserves (and Aziraphale leaves his mark on it). Also featuring Crowley getting yanked around in the necktie.

CW/TW/Tags-light D/S dynamics, dom Aziraphale/sub Crowley, top Aziraphale/bottom Crowley, come marking, genital switching (Crowley starts with penis, ends with vulva), blow jobs, anal sex, cunnilingus, PIV, butt plugs

Summary- Crowley and Aziraphale are officially together after the world doesn't end, but Aziraphale is still having trouble acknowledging it in public. After fighting about this, they go to the pub. An encounter with a carpet salesman forces Aziraphale to claim his demon in public. Said demon's enticing outfit inspires him to mark him in other ways behind closed doors.

Ch1-no smut, could honestly be a T-rated oneshot on its own, Ch2 is almost pure smut.

Ch2 Excerpt

Once they returned to the shop, Aziraphale locked the door and shut the curtains. Then he pressed Crowley against the door and kissed him, apparently forgetting his own rule.

“Someone’s impatient. Didn’t even give me a chance to take my glasses off.” Crowley said with a smirk. Normally, Aziraphale refused to kiss him with the glasses on, as he didn’t like it putting a barrier between them. As a result, Crowley almost never wore glasses past the entryway. He wanted as few barriers to being kissed and touched as possible. He wouldn’t even bother with clothes half the time if Aziraphale didn’t insist he wear something.

“We waited for centuries. I’d say that’s patience enough, wouldn’t you?” Aziraphale ran his hands down the soft turtleneck. Crowley melted into the touch. They’d only had this relationship for a few years in their long history together, so it all still felt so new. Would he get used to this after decades, centuries? Get bored by it, crave something new as humans tended to do? It seemed unimaginable.

Right now, he was the very opposite of bored as Aziraphale slipped one hand around his waist and pulled him in by the necktie for another kiss. “Now, are you ready to learn what sort of ideas this fetching ensemble has inspired, dear?”

“Somehow, I didn’t think strangling me with my own necktie was one of them.”

“If I strangled you out here, I couldn’t take you in the back room, which would be a shame. Would you like to join me there, dear?”

“Yessss, pleasssse.” He had gone there many times by now, had hoped that dressing up for his angel would lead to precisely this.

He hadn’t expected to enjoy submitting so much when Aziraphale first suggested it; in his encounters with mortals before they’d gotten together, he’d always needed to be the one in control. But there was something about letting his angel make the decisions, trusting that he would get exactly what he needed. Today, he craved the reassurance that his angel wanted him, needed him as badly as he needed Aziraphale.

“Excellent. Glasses off first, then come with me.” Crowley set his glasses on the horse statue, then let Aziraphale grab his necktie and lead him to the back room. It should be humiliating, far beneath a demon to be led around like an angel’s pet. It was, a little, but also arousing. And who would object to being led into Paradise?

Read more on AO3!

[liketwoswansinbalance]

How would Rafal react to finding out he is rather popular in our world

Rafal: [feigning apathy] I’m popular in your world? What a concept. [Secretly, his interest has been piqued, he’s rather pleased, and is already plotting.] Popularity doesn’t matter to me, but tell me: do I outrank Rhian? [He displays little emotion, except for a slight, expectant smile, like he already knows the answer.]

Rhian: That's preposterous! Everyone likes me better. After all, I'm a benevolent ruler, and you're... decidedly not. Why wouldn't the public's opinion of us be the same in another world? You’re probably only popular amongst psychotic Nevers.

Rafal: Oh, shut up. I already know my own students and most who've met me detest me and wish me dead.

Rhian: That's incredibly strange to hear from you. And how could you know what they thought of you behind closed doors? I didn't realize you had such self-awareness... or that you cared.

Rafal: I have eyes and ears everywhere. How did you think I remotely punished seditionists when I wasn't around?

Rhian: [pointedly] Is that why the Nevers have been cowering in empty hallways past curfew? Great. Another thing to not worry about.

Rafal: [growing impatient] Well, rarely does anyone listen to me. I have to instill fear to get by.

Rhian: [sighs]

Rafal: Regardless, what use could I get from this “popularity” you speak of? Would it grant me power over your world? To rule it?

Rhian: Not this again—

Rafal: [suddenly appalled by a realization] Wait a moment, does that mean I'm known? [to Rhian] It's not as if my weaknesses are publicized, are they?

Rhian: No, you expose yourself all on your own. [He turns to their audience.] Pride is weakness #1, if you've not been following along. And, oh look, there's paranoia and wrath, bringing up the rear! I could name your faults exhaustively, you know, brother mine, but I'm polite enough to restrain myself.

Rafal: You wouldn't dare.

Rhian: [grinning to himself at having found leverage] No, I wouldn't. Provided you don't test me and find out.

Rafal: Not here. Not when we're being watched by vulturous eyes. And that's a command, not a request.

Rhian: And there's character flaw #4: theatricality.

Rafal: [seizes Rhian by his necktie and drags him away.]

Rhian: [while choking, stumbling after Rafal with no choice in the matter] Good-bye all—send thoughts and prayers!

Rafal: Not another peep out of you. And you can have my useless popularity while you're at it. I don't want it anymore. Better your secrets laid bare than mine.

Rhian: Rafal—

Rafal: At dinner we're discussing new rules for interacting with these, these otherworldly gossip-mongers. I refuse to entertain them any longer.

Rhian: I—it's not as if you can exile them. They've done no wrong!

Rafal: Fine, I'll fall back on good, old-fashioned murder. Our uninvited guests will return to dust.

Rhian: There's nothing Good about murder!

Rafal: It's reliable, isn't it? And Good is constant and loyal to its fellows. Murder serves me well, as well as any Everboy knight could serve his liege.

Rhian: But that's, that's—well, your reasoning doesn't make sense. Murder can't be personified!

Rafal: Everyone personifies Death often enough. Why can't the same be done to Murder?

Rhian: Huh—I'd... not thought of it that way. Give me time to think before you do anything rash. And having a... skewed argument doesn't place you in the right!